Devils and Dust
by District11-Olive
Summary: "I have heard of the end of this war, but without the right... treatment what will halt others from trying to achieve their goal once more after they have been allowed to recuperate? Simply beating them will never be enough, you of all people should be able to understand that." Welcome to the 1st Hunger Games!
1. Fear Part One

**Devils and Dust by Bruce Springsteen**

_I got my finger on the trigger  
>But I don't know who to trust.<em>

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><p><strong>President Albinus Snow<strong>

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><p>I let the phone drop from my fingertips, my entire body shaking with the shock of what I have just said. <em>Drop the bombs<em>. Words that I knew were likely to be necessary, but yet had somehow thought I would be able to avoid. _Drop the bombs_.

And yet through the pain of what I have ordered my troops to do, I can feel this sense of great relief. The rebels have no means that any of my spies have been able to find that would allow them to come back from this. Their entire base was in District Thirteen, there is nothing left for them to do to continue this battle. The war is finally over, and we have won.

I rub the dry skin of my cheeks, allowing myself for a moment to drown in the regret of doing what I know I had no other choice but to do. All those people, my most trusted spies told me there were tens of thousands of them, all working for a cause. Brainwashed against the Capitol that has kept them safe and prosperous for so long. I want to, nay I need to, be able to damn them all for betraying their mother nation, but not all of them were to blame. The children that I saw video footage of, fighting for a war that they had no way of winning. Dying for a cause that they could not possibly understand. For a moment I mourn these children because they are not to blame for this. No, it was their parents and grandparents and leaders. The ones who deserve to die for the cause that would never be won.

I shut off my computer and begin to pack all of my files into the safe I keep under my desk, deciding that I am more than done for the day. It's nearly nine o'clock at night, maybe when I get back upstairs my daughter will still be awake. She just turned eight last week, but we were unable to celebrate properly like last year. My heart broke every time she asked about when her party would be because her friends were asking. She knows as little about everything that has been happening for the past ten months as I have been able to tell her to keep her happy. Esme always has been so interested in my job, but this is far too much for a little girl to handle.

What would she think of me if she knew the decision I made tonight? That perhaps tens of thousands of people were dead or dying, and I can't think about what percentage of that might have been around her age. I block the thought from my mind, knowing full well that I will be able to let all my emotions out later tonight. My wife has always been good at allowing me that stress relief. I couldn't ask for anyone better than my Vinia.

I am just about to reach out to unlock my office door when a quiet knock comes from the other side. I glance again at the clock, remembering a moment later that I had asked my assistant, Claudia, to stay later this evening to finish the statement that would be released tomorrow morning regarding the war situation.

When I open the door she looks surprised to see me away from my desk, I shake my head and she smiles as I invite her in. Claudia has been my right hand since my father passed down the presidency over twenty years ago, and she hasn't let up on me since, always making sure I am reminded of important meetings several times beforehand.

She shakes her head when I try to usher her in, instead closing the door behind her. Her tone is strict and low. "There is someone here to see you."

"At this hour?" I ask. Anyone that I can think of visiting me at this time of night is currently flying over District Thirteen along with the battle jets. Not only that, but normally when Claudia recognizes someone she pages me and lets me know they are here. It has been ages since she has actually came and gotten me. "Who is it?"

"I'm not sure, sir," she says quietly. "She would not tell me her name, only that she claims to have a solution to the problem."

When I give her another puzzled look she continues. "I've tried asking her to make an appointment, but she is insistent. I could call security if you want."

"No, let her come," I say though I am unsure why exactly. I have always tried to keep as much of an open door policy as I possibly could without putting myself in danger, and if the woman looked dangerous I am certain that Claudia would have already had her removed from the premises.

"I'll call in a security officer to search her first," Claudia says before leaving. I can still hear the click of her shoes from outside the door. I flick the lights back on and roll a chair to sit in front of my desk before taking my chair behind it. This entire thing is as enticing as it is nerve-wrecking.

It is several minutes before I hear the door open again. When it does I see a frail woman walk in, her body covered almost completely in dirtied fabrics and wraps. She walks with a hobble but her face does not show any sort of pain. She is not at all what I expected to walk into my office. Normally when one pays an important visit to the President of Panem, one dressed for the occasion. If anything I am more intrigued to hear her reason for coming than before.

"Good evening, ma'am," I acknowledge her and motion towards an empty chair. She takes the seat silently, a smile that almost appears too kind spread across her lips. "To what do I owe this late visit?"

She only looks at me for the longest time, but I force myself to hold her gaze no matter the discomfort I feel. Perhaps I should have called security after all. "Albinus Snow."

When she finally speaks her voice is low and raspy, as if it has not been properly exercised in months or even years. The fact that she addresses me by my full name is almost alarming, the only person to call me by my given name over the last few years has been my Vinia.

"That is I."

"I think it is clear why I am here," she says in a much warmer tone, reminding me somewhat of my own grandmother for a moment.

"I'm afraid it isn't quite so clear to me, ma'am," I say honestly, hoping that this admission is enough to urge her to tell me for herself.

"Ah of course," she smiles to herself. I consider that she may be just toying with me for a second but dismiss the thought. If she was looking to waste someone's time she would likely do so to someone else, for to do so to a president could have potentially lethal consequences. "I have the solution to your problem."

"Which one?" I laugh, attempting to bring some humour into the rather sombre mood of the room.

"The problem of the end of the war."

I am taken aback that she knows of the end of the war that quite literally only happened minutes ago. I guess it is possible that a news team has already heard the story and has had it aired on their network. That must be it. "I do not mean to be direct, but I do not see the end of a war as being a problem at all."

"Of course it is," she says, the smile still remaining as distinct as before on her face. "This will not be the end of the war without a solution. Without my solution, Albinus."

"Please explain," I swallow hard at her words. What could she possibly mean that the war is not yet over? I cannot do anything more to put an end to this than what I have already done. I keep my hand hovering above the emergency button on the inside of my desk. Something about this situation does not sit well with me and yet one small piece of me is not completely against hearing what this woman could possibly mean. "You are aware of the end of the war, you have already said that."

"Yes of course," she smiles. "I have heard of the end of this war, but without the right... treatment what will halt others from trying to achieve their goal once more after they have been allowed to recuperate? Simply beating them will never be enough, you of all people should be able to understand that."

My fingers drop from the button. She, of course, is correct. How did I not consider this probability? Of course the districts will seek revenge for the destruction of a large part of their population eventually. They will know what they are up against next time. It will be a more difficult war, with more bloodshed quite likely. How many cycles will it take before the Capitol is unable to control the districts and they finally get what they seek?

"I can see that my words have made an impression," the woman nods. "I had hoped you would see reason."

"I like to consider all possibilities brought forth by my people," I do my best to keep up a slight air of superiority even now, I guess it is simply ingrained into me to do so. Even as my mind if racing at a million miles an hour I will not allow myself to agree to things out of fear. "What do you suggest?"

"I had hoped you would ask that," she says and her smile widens. She moves the one side of her cloak and pulls a small, yellowed envelope out of it. She slides it across the table, where it leaves a faint streak of dirt on the white marble. Without a second thought I grab the envelope as soon as her fingers leave it. My eyes graze across the neat printing on the front of it.

"The Hunger Games?" I ask, the words seeming rather strange strung together into a title like this. "What does that mean?"

"You will understand when you read it," she says simply, hoisting herself out of the chair and starting to make her way to the door. "Do what you must with the information I have given you, but I ask that you please leave my name out of this."

"I don't know your name, ma'am," I say, my confusion growing as I struggle to make sense of any of this.

"Oh," she chuckles and as she walks out the door I can hear her still laughing quietly to herself, though what is so funny has passed over me completely. "Oh yes, that is true."

**Song: Devils and Dust by Bruce Springsteen**

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><p><strong>AN: You're probably all a tad bit confused since I just started a collaboration a couple months ago, but yes I am starting another SYOT. Since I have gotten pretty far ahead with all of my chapters for that, and I don't really want to stop writing at all right now, I figured that I may as well. **

**This prologue takes place before the establishment of the Hunger Games, just as the war has ended. This story will be very different from any of my other ones as it will be the very first Hunger Games. **

**I will let you all know right now that this story will be very different from how the Hunger Games are portrayed in the movie and book. The reason for this is because I picture the first few years being somewhat of a trial period, where they are still working out the format of the Hunger Games. Be warned, there will be a lot of things that are different, basically.**

**I hope as many of you as possible will consider submitting anyways! Here are some guidelines if you decide to do so.**

**- Since this is the first Hunger Games, there are no Careers.**

**- Tributes are ages 12-18, two per district as usual.**

**- Districts have just come out of war, so the industries are less important than the war in the case of jobs and such. **

**- Do NOT send a tribute that was at the bombing of Thirteen and survived. EVERYONE who was there died. Everyone. **

**- There is no tesserae, and every age has the same likelihood of being chosen (everyone only has one slip).**

**- Orphans are okay, since there was just a huge war and such, but please don't overdo it with the sad stories. I do want some kids that might have been very uninvolved in the war and/or kept both their parents.**

**DEADLINE: January 14th, 2014**

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><p><strong>If you have any questions about anything else feel free to message me. I love helping out with ideas and such, and would love to help get you on a good track. <strong>

**Other than that,**

**Welcome to **_**Devils and Dust! **_


	2. Fear Part Two

**Devils and Dust by Bruce Springsteen**

_Fear's a dangerous thing  
>It can turn your heart black you can trust<em>

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><p><em>The rebellion is strong with the people of the districts. They are ungrateful for what their mother nation has brought them to, as the lowest class citizens always have been. <em>

_Since the beginning of even the earliest settlements, this has always been a fact. No matter the prestige or success of a nation, there will always be those who are unsatisfied with what they have been gifted. Even before the wars that created our great nation of Panem, our ancestors have fought amongst one another for power. The ones who lived under the protection of the government always sought to overcome their limits. The ones who lived as part of the government always sought to keep their positions, most times out of fear of what would become of the nation should a revolution be successful. _

_There have been countless times in history where the choice has been left with those who are in power. If they are not willing to do what is necessary to keep peace and prosperity in their nation, then the nation will fall. When leaders are not able to do what they must, there will always be someone else who is willing. It is those times where the revolutionary wants the power more that the nation falls, when the country's leader is too weak to keep them in line. _

_And so the time has come where Panem is forced to ask the historical question- Is my leader willing to do whatever it takes to keep them safe. The people of Panem do not want a war, they have lived in one for far too many years. They do not want the constant reign of fear and sadness that has controlled them for so long. They look to their leader for peace. They look to the father of their nation to protect them from wartime. _

_We have come to you in hopes that you will not be the one to allow our great nation to be purged into despair for another moment. We have come to you in hopes that you will be the one to lead us away from this age of terror and into a new age of prosperity. We come to you with high praise but even more so we come to you with the solution that you need. _

_We come from a society that has dedicated itself to the study of history, and more importantly to the study of the mistakes that have befallen our ancestors in the past. The solution we have brought forth for you is not a simple one, and does not come without sacrifice, but we have great faith that you will do what is right for the nation your have sworn to serve and protect. _

_The conclusion that many of us has drawn is one that we trust you yourself have considered at some point in this dreadful wartime. The years that this Capitol has suffered in have taken their toll on our great people. The years that are to come will be difficult as our people fight their way back onto their feet and do away with the ill memories that will plague them from the images that have had to bear witness to. _

_The fact that the district people are to blame for the suffering of these innocent people should not and cannot go unnoticed. Not only to satisfy the hunger that all of us cannot help but feel towards the rebels that have caused so much pain to us, but also for the wellbeing of the nation as a whole. _

_If it is known to the people that those that do ill upon Panem are able to simply slip away to once again make their plots against the government, then they will live in constant fear. Not on that, but it will give the rebels a sense of victory in this war they have forced upon us. To slip away unpunished shows that they are feared, and proves to them that there will at some point be a time where their cause will be successful. _

_To keep the order that we will begin to rebuild in the coming months, we must quell both the fears of our own great people and the hopes of our rebellious enemies. _

_But what are we to do to punish those that have already willingly given over their lives to an improbable cause? Merely mass killing them will accomplish nothing but kindling a fire in the hearts of their youth who will continue to bear the flag of their rebellion. To punish them, we must strip their entire population of their hope for a revolution. While there is no hope of quelling this fight in the older generations, there is still time to save the young ones from sharing their families' fates. _

_That is the solution we have come to the conclusion would be the most effective in tying up the loose ends that the war has left us with. To target the rebellious youth that have become tangled in this war, in the hopes that we can show them how truly selfish their parents were to force them into this terrible war. _

_One must break the bonds between the generations, so that the young ones can be saved. _

_So with remorse we present to you the solution to the problem that you will soon face. For months we have worked out the details of how it will be presented to the public, and how it will be enforced to the districts. _

_In penance for the sins of their parents and grandparents, each district will be told to offer up one young man and one young woman as tributes to participate in the event. In representation of the wartime, each of the tributes will enter an arena where they will fight amongst each other as a showcase of how the districts' ruined themselves through the rebellion. In discussion, this event was given the name of 'The Hunger Games'. The fighting will cease when only one tribute is remaining, a lone symbol of the kindness and forgiveness that the Capitol holds for its colonies. _

_This lone victor will be welcomed into the highest ranks of the Capitol, with all of the wealth and fame they could ever need or desire. In doing this we will show the districts that not only are we forgiving, but we also care for those that follow our wishes. The single tribute that remains will be the beacon of hope that the children of the districts can aspire to be. In knowing that with obedience comes fortune and fame, we will save the young generation from becoming like their savage ancestors. _

_The nation will once again rest in peace and prosperity as long as this event will continue. So long as the newest generations are reminded of the mistakes of their ancestors as well as the rewards that will come to them should they allow their mother nation to protect them, this country will never again know the suffering that comes with civil war. _

_We very much hope you will consider our modest proposal. _

_The people of the Capitol should not be scared any longer._

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><p><strong>Song: Devils and Dust by Bruce Springsteen<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: I hope you all enjoyed my somewhat unorthodox second prologue. If you haven't figured it out yet, this is the letter that was in the envelope that was handed to President Albinus Snow by the woman from the first prologue. Hopefully I did a good enough job of showing how I've interpreted the Hunger Games coming about by now... **

**Anyway, I guess you are all looking to see the tribute list and not just me rambling like I seem to do a lot. But before I get to revealing that, I want to say that the decisions that I have had to make have been very hard for me. I received a lot more tributes than I expected to and it was hard to decide between them all but I had to so don't hate me!**

**A few of you might notice some changes that were made to your tribute such as age, height/weight, faceclaim, etc. If it bothers you a lot let me know, but I tried my best to keep changes to a minimum.**

**Anyways, the list!**

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><p><strong>District One<strong>

**Female- **_**Vera Hemley, 17**_

**Male- **_**Hollis Bale, 17**_

**District Two**

**Female- **_**Santana Belmont, 16**_

**Male- **_**Connor Leland, 18**_

**District Three**

**Female- **_**Jalissa Kessey, 18**_

**Male- **_**Danican Tobin, 16**_

**District Four**

**Female- **_**Caprice Neviere, 16**_

**Male- **_**Venice Durante, 18**_

**District Five**

**Female- **_**Dallas Audrinne, 17**_

**Male- **_**Adriel Maynard, 17**_

**District Six**

**Female- **_**Melita Crescent, 15**_

**Male- **_**Radimir Ankratij, 17**_

**District Seven**

**Female- **_**Merryn Celtey, 15**_

**Male- **_**Jonah Lintell, 16**_

**District Eight**

**Female- **_**Carina Ricter, 14**_

**Male- **_**Sampson Ellios, 15**_

**District Nine**

**Female- **_**Leina Rallis, 16**_

**Male- **_**Verden Arell, 16**_

**District Ten**

**Female- **_**Kyra Lacasse, 14**_

**Male- **_**August Overture, 17**_

**District Eleven**

**Female- **_**Eileen Garreti, 17**_

**Male- **_**Harlan Pearce, 12**_

**District Twelve**

**Female- **_**Ariella Saville, 14**_

**Male- **_**Flint Calloway, 14**_

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><p><strong>So congratulations if you tribute was accepted and I am very sorry if they weren't! I will be beginning with new chapters for the story very soon so stay tuned!<strong>


	3. Reality

**Stalemate by Enter Shikari**

_I'm losing my grip on reality,  
>I cannot simply agree that we are civilized.<em>

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><p><strong>Pre Reapings Part One<strong>

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><p><strong>Leina Rallis, 16, District Nine Female<strong>

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><p>I groan as I roll onto my stomach, the sun pushing through the curtains and onto my face. The startled sound of my cat crying out as she is pushed onto the floor wakes me from my half-sleep and I am completely awake. I look down at the base of my bed and see Tito staring up at me with about as angry an expression as a cat can make.<p>

"Sorry Tito," I giggle and he meows back up at me. I stretch out and pick him up off the floor, situating him back on my chest where he usually lays. I pet him for a few minutes before he gets up and scurries off towards the window sill. I guess that is my sign that it's time to get up.

I stifle a yawn as I follow Tito out of bed, picking up a beige dress from the top of my dresser that looks clean enough and dropping my pyjamas to the floor. I kick them underneath my bed and pull on some socks and a pair of clean boots before making my way downstairs.

The coffee mugs drying in the dish rack tell me that my parents have already headed out with the morning shift workers. I would have honestly been surprised to have seen them still here. They work harder than anyone I know, even on the days they schedule themselves 'off'. I notice a bowl covering a plate and my stomach reminds me with a loud groan that it's time for breakfast.

I smile when I lift up the bowl and see a couple of cold waffles sitting on the plate. I had been hoping that mom didn't forget about the tradition, even after the limits put on by the war made it impossible for her to make waffles on Sundays like she always did when I was little. It's been just under six months since the war was won, but food limits have persisted until just a few weeks ago.

I open the oven and drop the plate in, turning the heat on just enough to warm it up. As I wait, I shuffle through the various bottles in the pantry and find a half-empty bottle of syrup. I excitedly pull my meal out of the oven, deciding that I can't wait anymore, and sit down to eat my somewhat-cold waffles.

After I clean up the dishes I decide that it's probably a bit past the time when I should have joined my parents and the other workers in the fields. They always said it was fine if I joined them a little later, but I hate to let them work short-handed. Since the war ended and so many people needed jobs, we have had more workers than ever but I still hate to leave them hanging when I am supposed to be on shift.

I try my best not to slam the door behind me, but the rickety hinges don't make that very easy to do. I can see a bunch of bobbing heads just by standing on my porch, but they're far enough away that I can't tell who is who. Remembering the hot weather, I pull a hat off of one of the hooks and slap it on. I already have a bit of a blush sunburn, and mom has always told me that sunburns cause wrinkles so I would like to keep that to a minimum.

The dirt is dry under my feet as I walk down the path towards where the other workers are, meaning that I'll probably have to pull out the hose at some point today and water a few sections of the grain fields. As I get closer to them I can hear my mom call out to me.

"Leina! I need you to go to the Hildings' and ask if they have any more of the scythes we bought from them last month! Two of them broke when we hauled them out this morning!"

"Okay mom, I'll be back quick!" I yell back at her and turn around on the path towards my neighbour's house. The Hildings are good friends of my parents and their youngest child, Kyra, also happens to be my best friend. Mom could have gone over herself but I think she knows I love visiting Kyra.

It's only a fifteen or twenty minute walk to the Hildings' house, and I am all but skipping the entire way. I haven't seen Kyra for almost a week since school started up again. The council decided that it was best to keep children at home for their safety, especially after the first bombing, but school has been back for a couple months now. I decided that I didn't have any more use for school so I didn't go back, but I know Kyra loves it there. It's just terrible that I hardly see her anymore, it almost makes me wish the war didn't end.

I knock loudly on the door and it's only a minute or so before Mrs. Hilding answers. "Hello Mrs. Hilding, my mom wanted to know if you had any more of the scythes you sold us a while back."

"Oh what a pleasant surprise, Leina!" She smiles, pulling me inside. "Kyra! Leina's here!"

I can't contain the smile on my face when Kyra comes running down the stairs from her bedroom. "Leina!"

"Kyra!" I chirp back, enveloping my friend in a quick hug.

"Guess what?" She beams. "Oh never mind don't guess I'll just tell you. Scrat and Mila had their kittens!"

"No way, can I see them?" I say excitedly but Kyra is already pulling me up the stairs to her bedroom. I hope mom isn't waiting on me for the scythes, I can't help but think as we get to her room. Well if she is she can probably wait a little bit longer anyways.

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><p><strong>Hollis Bale, 17, District One Male<strong>

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><p>"What have I told you, it's too dangerous to go out."<p>

I stop in my tracks when I hear my mother's voice. I had reason to believe that she would still be in bed, where she tends to stay until the early afternoon hours. The end of the war has been difficult for her, and for me as well. It's not easy to be on the side that won as people around you are still unwilling to accept their loss. I don't blame her for wanting to stay indoors.

I sigh and turn to face her. She stands in the empty door frame with her arms crossed against her chest and her lips turned down in a scowl. "I'm sorry, mom. It's been months, though. It can't still be that terrible in town?"

"Of course it is, Hollis," she sighs, bringing her arms back down to her side and stepping over towards me. I brace myself and feel the familiar slap of skin against skin, turning my eyes to the floor. "Don't worry me like this, Hollis."

"I'm sorry, mom."

She grabs both sides of my face and forces me to look at her. Her eyes are puffy and tired, just like they've been since the day a rebel killed my father. I know she misses him, and I can't blame her for anything she does to me. I looked to my father more than anyone else in my life and she is the last thing I have to remind me of him. They used to be so happy together.

"You're going to make your father so proud, Hollis," she smiles and I automatically return the grin. "Seven months and finally, because of you, it's going to be like he is with us again."

I don't know what else to say so I just smile. Suddenly her face changes to an exaggerated expression of shock. "Don't you understand me?"

"I'm not sure I do?" I say honestly and she releases my face, instead taking my hands into hers and pulling them close to her chest.

"They killed your father, and in a couple weeks it'll be your chance to avenge him," she whispers, tears welling up in her eyes. "For both of us. We're going to do this together. They're going to pay for what they did to your father. He was such a good man, he didn't deserve it."

"Of course he didn't, mom," I say. I'm not sure what she is saying still, but the prospect of bringing my father's spirit back is everything I have hoped for these past few months. Just one chance to do something to show those people that killed him. To show them that they didn't get away with it.

"You're going to volunteer," she whispers and suddenly I understand, or I think I do. I hope I'm wrong. "They're Reaping the rebels, but you're going to volunteer. They said that would be allowed. You're going to show them, Hollis. You'll be the one to show them that we were right all along. You'll prove it for you and for me. You'll prove it for your father."

I swallow hard before answering, the thought of finally doing something to get back at the rebels for what they did to my father being overridden by the shear amount of fear that I feel towards the Hunger Games. They were announced two weeks ago, but no one is really sure what they are. All I know is that I am in the eligible age range and twenty-three people are going to be killed. Finally I force myself to answer. "I'm scared."

Her face tenses up and I brace myself again. "You're not a coward. If there is one thing I didn't raise it's a coward. Your father did worse for you, he died for you Hollis. You are not going to die. They wouldn't let you, you are like them. Your family fought for the Capitol, Hollis. They would protect you."

"I'm not a coward," I say automatically as I process what she said. It makes sense, that they would want to kill the rebels not me. My family was hugely involved in the war, hell, my father fought the rebels on the forefront. They would have been told about us. If I volunteered, they wouldn't kill me. I would come back here just like mom says I will, only better because I will get to avenge my father.

"I know you're not," she says, her voice low and calming once again. "You're just like your father. He would be so proud if he could see you right now."

"D-do you think he's watching us right now," I whisper. It's something I have struggled with since hearing about his death. I want him to see me. I want him to know how much I love him and how much I am missing him. I don't know if I could stand to hear that he doesn't know that I miss him.

"I don't know, Hollis," she whispers. "But if he is, I know he would be so proud."

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><p><strong>Adriel Maynard, 17, District Five Male<strong>

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><p>"Adriel, I think it's time for bed."<p>

I turn around and see Della standing in the door with a concerned look on her face. The weathered woman is always looking concerned about something whether it be Anya's laundry or Via's messy room. I sigh as I take a look at the clock, realizing that is its past three in the morning. I must have gotten distracted with my work again.

"Sorry Della, I'll take a nap when I get home from school," I shrug, looking back down at the sea of words and numbers that has taken over my page. I realize now just how exhausted I am, but sleeping is not an option right now. There is far too much planning to do when I have a business meeting with my older relatives two nights from now.

"If I ever believe that just put me out of my misery," she laughs and comes in, sitting herself down on the edge of my bed. I spin around in my chair to face her, swallowing a yawn before she can see it.

"I will, I promise," I try even though I know she won't buy it. Unlike most of the people in my family, unfortunately, Della really does seem to care for me. It doesn't bother anyone else that I miss meals or a few nights of sleep to work through not only my school assignments but also countless revisions of plans to go through with my relatives. They see it as me taking my family's legacy seriously, but all Della seems to see is that I am neglecting myself.

"Adriel," she sighs. "You've already earned the rights to take over the factories when you get older. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? It's not healthy."

"Nothing's for sure, Della," I remind her. It was only a few years ago that it was going to be Anya that would take over the factories. Even though she is younger than me, at least she was born with the do-what-it-takes attitude. I had to learn it. I had to want it. And that is exactly what I did.

I was never a lazy kid, but I was too nice for my own good. Anya had the right attitude for the job, but I was able to learn to fake the attitude better than she could present it. Now it's natural, to look towards the next big thing and make sure I am the one to present it first. That isn't too difficult to do, however. Tori and Anya, my cousin and sister, will be great supervisors when they grow old enough but they never have been too apt at keeping their ideas to themselves.

"Believe me," she smiles. "You are for sure, honey. Now get some sleep."

"Just another half hour and I will," I mutter as I turn my chair back to face my desk. As tired as I am there just isn't the time to rest right now. With the war ending and everyone returning back to work it's the perfect time to implement a new system of part time work that will save the factories thousands. If I wait until tomorrow to finish my charts someone else might have thought of it too. I can't let anyone but myself be the one to show this genius to my parents.

"Alright, I'll come check on you then."

By the time Della closes the door I have already absorbed myself back into my plans, working out everything with perfect accuracy. My parents will accept nothing less. They wouldn't even look at anything that I come up with if it doesn't account for every possibility. I feel bad for lying to Della but I know I will not be going to sleep tonight.

I sit back in my chair for a second, the calculation of how many new employees each factory should take in to ensure maximum production and savings still running through my mind.

Sometimes, especially on the nights where everyone in my house is asleep and I am still awake into the late morning, I wonder what would have happened if I decided I didn't want to be the one to take over the business. Being the best has been the first thing on my mind since I began spending time with my parents at the factories, about age ten. What was it like before that?

I was just a regular kid. I had friends still. People liked me and not just for the powerful man I would be someday. Sometimes I miss it, but I imagine that if I went back in time and was given the chance to start over I would have followed exactly the same path. It's a lonely existence but it's the only one for me.

I get up and lock the door, saying a silent apology to Della. I know she will keep true to her word to check on me in a little while, but I just cannot afford the distractions right now. There is so much to do. I had hoped to be further along by tonight but a few of the figures threw me for a bit of a loop. It's nothing I can't work through but I think it'll be a fairly sleepless couple days until I finish.

I turn off the overhead light and up the brightness of my desk light. I'm sure Della will be able to see the light anyways, but maybe she will overlook it if I go to the effort to hide that I am still awake. Della pretends not to understand the implications of how precariously I am sitting within the future of the factories, but I know she does. This is my future and I've put too much into it to simply give up now. She has to understand that.

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><p><strong>Song: Stalemate by Enter Shakari.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: Hey everyone! If you haven't already noticed, the format of this story is pretty different from all the others I have written. There will be eight, count 'em, eight Pre-Reaping chapters followed by nine chapters of 'Capitol'. Each tribute will get two POVs before the arena, basically. **

**Hope you enjoyed these three tributes! Let me know what you think of them (as well as general writing quality) if you have the time to do so.**

_**What do you think of these first three tributes?**_

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><p><strong>I hope to update about twice a week depending on my school schedule. Hopefully at the very least weekly. Yeah so basically that is all fro this chapter, I will see you all in a few days with the next three tributes! <strong>


	4. Rewritten

**Ashes In Your Mouth by Megadeth**

_Now we've rewritten history  
>The one thing we've found out.<br>Sweet taste of vindication  
>It turns to ashes in your mouth.<em>

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><p><strong>Pre Reapings Part Two<strong>

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><p><strong>Santana Belmont, 16, District Two<strong>

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><p>"Dad?" I creep down the stairs that lead to the basement. The lights are off even though it is well into the morning and I know he will be awake by now. I exaggerate my steps so that he will be able to hear me coming, he never was one for surprises and that is even truer now. By the time I am at the bottom of the stairs I still have not gotten anything back from him and I start to worry.<p>

"Dad?" I say a bit louder. I stop at the bottom of the stairs to listen and I hear nothing still. Panic sets in and I burst through the door that was built to separate the two floors. Mom had the lock removed, against what Dad told her about keeping it there 'just in case', so I don't need a key anymore.

The basement is dark and I shudder at the memory of spending so long down here. I let my eyes adjust so that I don't trip over anything. My dad has become notorious for leaving things around- says that it will protect us because intruders will trip and fall and he will hear them. We've long stopped arguing with him that there will not be any more intruders. His mind just doesn't seem to be able to get out of its wartime state and it's far too tiring to try anymore.

I step into the single bedroom that we created out of the furnace room a few months into the war. I almost don't see the shovel before it comes just inches from smacking into my face. Almost.

I throw both hands up and block the blow before it can reach me, biting the inside of my mouth as the pain echoes through me. Anticipating another hit, I take a step back and flick on the overhead light. "Dad! It's me."

My father's eyes are wide and panic-stricken, the bags under his eyes even more noticeable than the last time I saw him. He looks at me for several seconds before recognition and relief wash over him and he drops the makeshift weapon, coming at me with his arms open wide.

"Oh, oh, my dear I am sorry. I am so sorry." He strokes my hair and clings to me like a young child. I try for a second to wrap my arms around him to comfort him, but the gesture just doesn't feel right and I let my arms drop back down to my sides.

"It's fine," I say, pulling him off of me as gently as possible. Mom said that he just needed time and that he would snap out of, well out of whatever the hell is wrong with him. Every time I come down here he looks worse- either crying on the mattress or toying with something he found that almost looks like a surveillance camera. He's getting worse, there is no doubt in my mind about that one.

"You should stay down here where it's safe," he whispers, suddenly very serious. He does this often as well. I remember about two months after the war when he came upstairs one night. I thought he had finally come to his senses, but I was very wrong. He started insisting that Mom and I come back downstairs and wouldn't calm down until we did. He could have gotten us in trouble with the Peacekeepers. Nowadays they are looking for any reason they can find to arrest or whip citizens. Disturbing the peace would have been enough to land all of us a few lashings at least.

"It's safe upstairs, too." As soon as I say it I regret the words. His face contorts with fear and he grabs at the sleeves of my shirt, bringing his face so close to mine that I can smell his putrid breath.

"No, no. No it's not. Santana, the Capitol is coming for us." His body is shaking by now and I have to hold onto his arms to keep him steady as I begin to move him towards the mattress. "They're going to kill us. Not us if we stay down here where it's safe. Not us, not us. You'll be safe."

"Don't worry, we're safe," I say as I set him down on the mattress. I wish I felt worse for him. I know his mind is just stuck back in the time when we would sleep down here in fear of a Capitol bombing in the night. But it's over and he is a grown man. He is supposed to be the responsible one, not me. I try not to resent him for having to care for him, but it is hard to so that sometimes. I wish I could sympathize with him, but my emotions escape me once again. Just as they always do.

"Go get Mom," he whispers even as his eyes close. He must be really tired, it is not usually this easy for me to calm him down when he gets like this. "Bring her down here. She's not safe staying upstairs. The bombs-"

"I'll go get her," I say, cutting him off before he can go off on another tangent. "You just sleep and I'll bring her down here. We'll both be fine, just sleep."

He doesn't even answer me, his breathing steadying as he falls asleep. I pull a blanket down from his desk and place it over him. I'm relieved that this was as easy as it was. It is draining to deal with him sometimes.

I close the door as I go back upstairs and into reality. Coming down into the basement is sort of like a short escape- if you can even call it that- out of the real world. The world where a whole district of people is trying to rebuild after a defeat that was probably unavoidable from the very beginning.

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><p><strong>August Overture, 17, District Ten<strong>

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><p>It's back to the old ways that things used to happen before the war took over.<p>

I look out on the huge field, a smile coming to my face when I remember playing in the bright grass everyday and Pop would prod the cattle towards the stable. The place looks so much different than it did back then.

Even after months of the war being over, my family has still only just begun to rebuild. We're only up to four cows when we used to have dozens. The grass is dead or dying in most of the areas- no matter what we do we can't seem to keep the grass blades from being strangled by the shrapnel. It's everywhere, these little pieces of metal. Well I'd bet if I dug my hand into the ground and picked up a handful of it I would see more debris than roots.

The war was tough in District Ten, people have said over the past few months. I don't know what it was like for any of the other districts but it was mighty scary here. Everyone lost so much, and I don't just mean cows.

People died. So many people. My father and oldest brother were among the thousands that were buried in the mass grave on one of the more destroyed parts of the district. There just wasn't enough ground to bury them all properly, so only the real important and wealthy people got that privilege. Even then, only when they could recognize the bodies.

Mom couldn't find the money for both of them, and she said it seemed wrong to just bury one of them specially. She said it was better that they were at least together, and that they wouldn't have wanted us to spend so much on them anyway. Elm says that she doesn't really mean that, and that she feels terrible about it, but she says she is fine and I don't think she would lie. All of us feel bad about it, she wouldn't even be the only one.

The ranch is so quiet, it's almost frightening. It reminds me too much of the raid, the one where I got separated from Pop. It was quiet before that too. I shudder at the memory and put my hat back on my head. When I am unable to shake the feeling I decide to go inside for lunch.

The house is a lot louder than the outside porch. We live in a small farmhouse that probably wasn't meant to be lived in by nine people, or I guess seven people now. The kitchen is nothing special, cooking stuff and a big old table in the middle with chairs squeezed all around it. My three sisters are sitting around the table, peeling potatoes that I hope will be lunch.

"August!"

"Hey August!"

"Where have you been all day?"

The three voices come all at once and they turn and smile at each other. I put my hands up in mock defence but am unable to keep the grin from spreading to my face as well "Hold on, hold on, one at a time."

Jubilee and Magnolia roll their eyes in perfect unison and Astrid raises an eyebrow at me. I throw them a wink and sit down at the table. "So what are you girls making for lunch?"

"Carrots, if you didn't notice," Astrid smirks and the twins giggle into their peelers. It takes me a second to understand what's so funny about carrots but then it clicks.

I pick up one of the potatoes and eye it closely. "This is a mighty big carrot, if I do say so."

"Mom's in the back room getting the big pot," Jubilee says a-matter-a-factly. "We're making stew."

"Sounds good to me," I grin. "I'm starving."

"How are you hungry already?" Magnolia shakes her head at me. "We had breakfast two hours ago."

"It's been two hours, that's how I'm hungry."

Her and Jubilee roll their eyes again. "Boys, I'll never understand how you eat so much. If you're hungry you better ask Mom for something. We haven't even started cooking and it'll be a while still."

As if on cue my mom walks into the room holding a huge, silver pot with both hands. She puts the pot down on the table and looks at me with her hands on her hips. "August you are going to eat us out of house and home one day, I swear."

"Hey, how'd you know I was hungry?" I say defensively. "Maybe I just came in here to say hi?"

"Nice try, honey," she chirps, plopping a handful of the cut potatoes into the pot. "These walls aren't as thick as you seem to think they are."

I turn my face away to hide my blush. She laughs, so I guess I don't do a very good job of covering it. "Lucky for you we have some leftovers in the fridge, but don't tell your brother. He's getting almost as bad as you about eating between meals, I swear."

I run up and hug her from the side and give her a quick kiss on the cheek and she smiles. A second later I am in front of the fridge, pulling out a little bowl full of last night's mushroom soup. I grab a spoon out of the top drawer and dig in.

Mom turns to me and smiles. "That can't possibly be any good cold."

"It's almost as good as yesterday," I grin, my lips closed as I swallow another mouthful. With the table full I decide to take my snack outside, after all it is my job to look after the cattle now.

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><p><strong>Melita Crescent, 15, District Six<strong>

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><p>I hear the door close quietly and I want to laugh at the thought that Radimir thinks I am asleep. It's past midnight by now I am sure, but I don't feel tired at all. Radimir always sleeps well into the afternoon and I have gotten in the habit as well since I began living with him. I don't expect that I will be asleep for a few hours at least, but of course I'll pretend that I am when Radimir comes in after he's finished with his clients.<p>

I know that he knows I am not stupid, so I don't quite understand why he always tries to be quiet when clients arrive after midnight. I know why they're here and I know what they're doing back there. It doesn't really bother me if I am being honest. Any way of making money is a good way of making money, especially after the war made it so difficult for most people to do it.

Ah the war. Now that's a memory that I haven't entertained in a while.

I shake my head to keep the thoughts from coming up, but of course they don't listen. When have they ever? I open my eyes are realize that I am holding onto the bed frame and when I take my hand off of it I can see the indentation marks. I never have been one to allow memories of the past to be in my present, but just because I don't let them into my mind doesn't mean they leave me alone.

Memories of the war are still as fresh in my mind as if they had happened just days ago, even when I know the war has been over for months. Almost all of them are bad- horrifying visions that make my stomach churn and my heart race. Somewhere in the mix of fear, grief, and hopelessness I manage to pull out the one memory that I can bring myself to cherish.

The day I met Radimir.

It was during the early stages of the war, just a month after I lost my mother between the crossfire of a rebel attack. I was living on the streets by then, only managing to get by with what I could take from other people even as the memory of my first whipping was still fresh in my mind. There was no choice, I had to live. I could have joined the rebel army, but the thought of supporting either side sickened me. I wasn't ready to die for a cause just so I could have a place to sleep or food to eat.

I can still remember the feeling of the boy's arm as it locked around my neck, the voice menacing as it spoke into my ears. The way my hands shook, not even stopping when I realized he wasn't going to hurt me because I really could never have been sure that he wouldn't. Being alone makes you think like that- that everyone is out to get you. It doesn't help when there is so much that you could be tried for.

It took many months after that before I moved in with Radimir. I learned about his business, even considering it for myself for a small while until I came to the conclusion that I would never be any good at it. My body had an automatic response to pull back from people; to shudder at any touch and to tense at any hint of connection.

Radimir never pushed me to get into the business. He probably knew that I wouldn't make very much money if every client left unhappy. Besides, I was a better pickpocket. I used to take money from his clients who would leave their bags unattended outside as they ventured into his room, but Radimir put a stop to that. Now I worked in fractions, it was easier to prevent myself from getting caught this way.

A fifth has always been the magic ration. For the richer clients, it would hardly be enough to make a difference to them, and for the poorer ones, well, I wasn't taking much anyway. The extra money is beyond helpful, especially now that Radimir has taken on a houseguest. We don't live in any sort of luxury, but we're not starving anymore. The end of the war has done wonders for business. People aren't scared to leave their houses or fearful of being robbed if they leave with enough money to buy themselves a good time.

The door creaks open and I hear the dreamy chattering of a woman as she gathers up her belongings, minus about sixty dollars or so. Radimir thanks her profusely, as he always does, and I can picture him taking her hand and pressing it to his lips as he encourages her to come back another time.

It used to disgust me to see him doing this. Trying to charm the women he brought home even after they had already paid for his services. I didn't understand the need, but he knows this business better than me. He's told me before that he is building up his hype, whatever that means. Basically he's trying to make repeat customers who tell their friends about how good he is. Frankly the idea of older, usually married women discussing things like this about my seventeen year old friend makes me want to be sick.

The back door slams shut and the apartment is silent again. He comes in faster than I had expected, and I don't have time to shut my eyes and continue the facade that I am asleep, but I try it anyway.

"I know you're awake," he chuckles as he lays down on the cot across from mine. I always wondered why he didn't sleep in the back room since it is so much nicer than the curtained off room he made when I moved in. I remember him saying something about feeling more comfortable in here, but it sounds pretty stupid if you ask me.

"What are you talking about," I whisper, opening on eye to see that he is already passed out on the cot. That has always been him, asleep before his head even hits the pillow. I sigh and close my eyes again. I guess it is getting pretty late.

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><p><strong>Song: Ashes In Your Mouth by Megadeth.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: Hey all! Updates seem to be going pretty well so far. Shorter chapters generally mean speedier updates so that is a good thing. Hope you enjoyed these three tributes, and if they are yours I hope I did them justice!**

**Basically I am going to be asking the exact same questions probably every one of these chapters but here I go again anyway.**

_**What did you think of these three tributes? In comparison to the last three?**_

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><p><strong>That's basically it, leave a review if you can spare the time? Should be updating in a few more days with the next three. <strong>


	5. Monotony

**Spirit Breaker by August Burns Red**

_I will survive another month under gray skies.  
>I'm holding on as a tight as I can.<br>The monotony never seems to end._

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings Part Three<strong>

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><p><strong>Jonah Lintell, 16, District Seven<strong>

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><p>"Hey, you! Get out of there!"<p>

The voice wakes me from a light sleep and I am scrambling up out of the store entrance before my eyes are even fully open. The lantern that the man carries lights up the area in front of me and I book it out of there as fast as I can.

Once the light starts to fade I let myself slow down as I duck into a narrow alleyway. My chest floats up and down as I struggle to catch my breath, adrenaline rushing through my body as the realization hits me that I was almost caught again.

There are so many homeless people, especially teenagers, in District Seven that you would think they would lighten up on the laws forbidding us to sleep in public spaces, but to the contrary the punishments have only gotten more extreme. Just a couple days ago I saw a girl probably no more than a year older than me whipped for trying to take shelter from the rain in a store window.

I sink down to the cement ground and let myself relax again. It's late, or early I guess, probably around four or five in the morning judging by the fact that the sun still hasn't risen. That means I slept for less than four hours, but at least it's better than last night. Sleep has been hard to come by since I was evicted from my parents' house. It's not only that it is difficult to find the slightest bit of comfort on the cold nights, but the strict rules that street people have to abide by makes me feel more like an animal than a person. I'm always running away from things.

If only the house wouldn't have been so expensive. Maybe then I would have been able to keep it for more than a few months after they died. We rented it from one of the wealthier families, but we were well off ourselves. I just wish we could have owned it ourselves, or even just spent a little less money every month. I wouldn't be out here, then. I at least wouldn't be afraid of being whipped or beaten for falling asleep if I had a home to do it in.

This has been my life for four months now. Running, scavenging, and just plain surviving in a district that I can't even pretend to think wants me alive anymore. The bombing left so many teenagers out in the streets where we are no use to anyone anymore. At least during the war we could be taken in by a rebel force that needed soldiers. Now we're just nothing but walking reminders of the war that no one wants to even look at.

The bombing happened two months before the official end of the war. The Capitol came in with fighter jets and just went to town, dropping the things on anything that looked somewhat important. Several stores were hit, the Justice Building, a few houses even, but the worst was the work huts. No one expected the Capitol to bother with the tiny shelters that were only big enough to hold a few trees worth of wood. People took up shelter in them, it seemed safe at the time. I felt safe in one, crouching on the ground between my father and my older sister.

They destroyed every last one of the huts and nearly everyone that was hiding within them. I was the only one that was still alive when I was pulled out of the rubble. Out of the thirteen people in my hut there was only one person left and unfortunately it was me.

I lived in my parents' house for four months after that until they had to evict me. I didn't have any money and everything my parents had had been given to the war effort. How many people have I heard the same story from? A few dozen at least. Their families were killed in the same bombing as mine were and they couldn't afford their home, so here they were on the streets with no one to notice and no one to care.

"Jonah is that you?"

I jump at the sudden voice and I am on my feet a second later. At first I see no one, but then a greasy brunette pokes her head into the alley in front of me. My brows furrow for a moment as I struggle to try and recognize her, but then it comes to me. "Sadie?"

"Jonah, oh my goodness," she jumps right into the narrow alley and envelops me in a tight hug. "Where have you- oh my goodness. I thought-"

She interrupts her own voice as she leans in to hug me again, even tighter this time. I have no idea what to say. I haven't seen Sadie since the very beginning of the war, when things still looked good for the rebels and my family was still alive.

"Where have you been?" She asks finally.

"You know," I shrug. "Around."

"That's so good to hear, you have no idea," she smiles. "What are you doing out here so early?"

"Oh, just walking around to clear my mind," I say. I don't know why I am lying to her, it just sort of comes out. For whatever reason I just can't think of telling her the truth, there is no putting that into words.

"Me too, it's a nice night," she smiles. "You should go back home and get some sleep soon though. Call me tomorrow?"

I look at her blankly and then nod despite myself. What else am I supposed to say? No? That would definitely require some sort of explanation and I'm not ready to give her that. I'll tell her eventually, but the first time we see each other after such a long time it just doesn't seem right to ruin it.

I wave at her as she jogs back towards her house. Once she disappears from my view I slink out of the alley and head away from town. I'm not really sure where I'm going but the thought of seeing anyone else I used to know while looking like this is enough to make me sick to my stomach.

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><p><strong>Danican Tobin, 16, District Three<strong>

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><p>I pull the box of metal scraps out from under my bed and get to work.<p>

It has become a habit of mine to admire the pieces that I have already made and displayed on my desk, but today I just can't help myself from starting on them right away. A dream I had last night has given me just the idea I've been waiting for.

It has been months since the war ended and I still haven't done anything in memory of my grandfather. He was killed when he went out to war, telling everyone that he was going to fight for all of us. Father didn't let him near me after that. He said I was too impressionable and he was scared of losing me to his crazy banter.

I pull the loose sketch I made early this morning out of the top drawer of my night table and pin it to the wall that my desk faces. It's a simple medallion that I'll melt the District Three symbol into. I don't know why it took me this long to decide on what to make. I think I just wanted something a little more personal, but last night that didn't make sense anymore. He died fighting for the district so what better way to remember him by.

I light up the room with a pull of the string hanging from the ceiling and take a seat at my desk, all of my supplies strewn in front of me. I want nothing more than to open the window and work by the natural light that teases me through the thick curtains, but that's forbidden. Father was not a popular man because of his views on the war, and that is even more true nowadays. I didn't understand what more we had to fear from the rebels until I heard him talking to his assistant a couple weeks ago. Apparently the war wasn't as over as the Capitol claimed it to be.

I wouldn't know much about what the outside world is doing. I was stuck in the basement of my house for a long portion of the war and in here since the last couple of months before it ended. It's for my own protection, but that doesn't make it any nicer to be trapped for this long. The only one of my old friends that I have been allowed to see, and even then only in the safety of the Justice Building, has been Mona. Dad cleared her after a few talks with her father so we're allowed to hang out again.

I sigh and get started on the medallion. It's a really simple design, and almost boring at this stage in its creation. I slip on a pair of goggles and heat-proof gloves before starting up the burner. I smile when I think about the look on my dad's face when I asked him to buy it for me. I still can't understand why he was surprised, I have always had quite unconventional hobbies.

I jump when the door flings open, ricocheting off of the side of my desk and scaring the living shit out of me.

"I'm here!" Mona announces as she steps into my room and flops down on my bed.

"Because obviously I've been waiting, yeah," I say between heavy breaths as I try to calm my speeding heart rate. One would think that I would be used to Mona by now, having been friends for as long as we have, but sometimes she still doesn't fail to surprise me.

"Sorry," she smirks, giving me a knowing look. "Am I interrupting something? Would you like me to leave?"

I shake my head quickly. "No, please stay."

"I'm glad you said that, but either way I think we both know I wasn't going anywhere."

I roll my eyes but can't wipe the smile off of my face. Mona and I have been friends since basically forever and a day. If I had to choose one friend to be 'cleared' by my father so that I can see them, I would have certainly chosen her.

"So what do you want to do?" She sits up and puts both fists under her chin as she stares at me.

"Hm," I think for a second before replying. "I was thinking maybe take a boat across the ocean to the abandoned, tropical island I discovered last week. Oh, or we could take a sip of this magic potion that will make us grow wings and flow away. Or-"

Mona cuts me off before I can continue. "Are you going to come up with anything serious or am I going to have to think of something?"

"What do you think?" I laugh.

She rolls her eyes and bites her lip as she always does when she's thinking. "The raspberry bushes behind my house have started to ripen. If we hurry over we could grab a few before my grandmother wakes up and takes them all."

"I'm not allowed to go out, remember," I sigh and by the way her face falls it does seem like she just forgot.

"Sorry," she murmurs and I just shrug. It's not her fault that I'm stuck in here, after all, so I shouldn't blame her for it. But it's still hard to think of all the people like her that are allowed to come and go as they please while I have to answer to the birdcage. I just have to wait for someone to leave the door open, I guess.

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><p><strong>Eileen Garreti, 17, District Eleven<strong>

* * *

><p>I run down the stairs as soon as I hear the knock on the door, but even then my mom beats me there. I stop in my tracks on the stairs, hoping that Hayden isn't here earlier than he told me he would be.<p>

"Oh, good evening, Hayden." I don't think the forcibly pleasant tone of her voice fools anyone, and I am not quite sure why she even tries to hide her distaste for him anymore. She has told me several times over that she doesn't appreciate people like him in her home, once even in front of Hayden. If I were a few years younger that would have been enough to turn me off of him.

I'm glad I grew some balls since then.

Every time she brings him up at dinner I make sure to shut down her dislike of him pretty quick. After all I am seventeen years old now, I should at the very least be allowed to choose my own friends. She was none too pleased about that the first few times, and I can't imagine what she would say if she knew we were a little closer than friends.

No, we're not dating and I don't think we ever will. Hayden and I are best friends and have been for a good while, and even though it would make my mother crazy if I were to date a guy like him I don't think I even want to. Not even if they approved. I don't think either of us is really the relationship type if I am being honest. Little nightly flings are much more my speed; I guess Hayden is just my longest fling so far.

"I think she stepped in the shower, actually. I'll be sure to tell her that you came around, though, dear."

As soon as I hear this, along with Hayden's awkward, mumbled reply, I rush the rest of the way down the stairs. I see Hayden before my mom turns around and give him a sly wink before putting as nice a smile as I can on my face.

"Actually, I just got out."

I don't pay attention to what she says. It doesn't really matter to me what it could be, she walked away which means she's not going to try anything else to get him to leave. "Sorry about her."

"You really need to stop apologizing for her," he smiles. "You're going to get laryngitis if you keep trying."

For some reason it doesn't sit well with my when Hayden mocks her. I'd feel worse asking him not to, though. He pretty much has every reason to hate her, even more reason than I do. She constantly criticizes and puts him down, and I really can't blame him for wanting to do the same to her. Still, though, I hate it. When I do it it's normal, we're family after all, but with Hayden and he it seems far more wrong.

"Can I come in?" He interrupts my thoughts and I realize I haven't replied yet. I bite my lip to keep from blushing and shake my head quickly.

"Let's go for a walk."

He nods and I follow him out the door, closing it loudly behind me. Ever since the end of the war I have started taking every opportunity to get outside that I can. During the war it was almost impossible for me to get out of the house without sneaking out my window, and even then I had been caught once or twice when I tried that. It drove me crazy to be kept indoors when all of that stuff was happening around me. Both of my best friends had been in the midst of it all while I stayed locked in that stupid tower for a good month before I cracked.

"Still can't get it off can they?" Hayden nods up at the roof of the shed and smiles. I follow his gaze to the detailed tombstone painting that still graced the building.

"They've had cleaning crews up a few time, but they've all said we're going to have to paint over it, "I tell him and sigh. "It should be gone in a few days."

It isn't hard to remember the frustration of my parents when they noticed the painting on the shed as they looked out the kitchen window one morning. They yelled and screamed about the disrespect that the rebels had for their property, all the while all I could think of was the incredible detail. The tombstone even had a name, Aleah Turow a little girl that was kidnapped and publically whipped to death after she was caught after curfew. Anyone in District Eleven would tell you that that was the most terrible day of the war by far. She had only been six years old- tied to a post as her brother was held back from helping her as she died.

All my parents could see was the destruction of property, while all I could see was the detailed handwriting over the thick layer of aerosol paint. All they saw was the damage and all I saw was the beauty, go figure.

"Do you think you'll ever tell them?" He asks, nodding again towards the shed just before we round the corner and it goes out of view.

"As soon as I have another death wish I will be sure to," I smile.

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><p><strong>Song: Spirit Breaker by August Burns Red.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: Hey all. I seem to be getting in a regular pattern of updates, which is pretty cool. I also wanted to say that that might stop because I have a midterm next Thursday. At the very latest I will tell you to expect an update a week from today. **

**Not much else to say, hope you enjoyed and leave a review if you would be so kind as to take the time. Any comments on the general writing and style would also be appreciated.**

_**What do you think of these three tributes?**_

_**Who are your favourites out of the nine you have seen.**_

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><p><strong>That is all, see you next update. <strong>


	6. Hourglass

**Hourglass by Lamb of God**

_Rapture of the dying age, a shattered hourglass_

_Wrath of the warring gods and so this too shall pass._

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings Part Four<strong>

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><p><strong>Caprice Neviere, 16, District Four<strong>

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><p>It's always a mystery what time I get up in the morning. I wish I could know by the sound of the birds or the position of the sun. I'm sure someone could teach me, if there was anyone here. But there's not. There is just me, like every morning for such a long time now.<p>

I sigh and kick the covers off of the bed. As soon as my feet hit the carpet I have already decided that today is going to be the day.

_You say that every morning, _I think to myself. _You never go. _

I roll my eyes at myself and go to the drawers at the front of the room. I look in the top drawer and sigh. I really have to do laundry soon, but it's such a hassle. The few times I have done it I was not even sure I was doing it right. We always had servants for that, but now it's just me. At least no one is here to tell me I'm doing it wrong. Only the chaffing of the stiff fabric against my skin can tell me that.

I kick my discarded clothes into one corner of the room, deciding to deal with it later in the week. Maybe when I am not so tired.

_But you can't be tired, _I remind myself. _You're going into town today, remember? _

I sigh and begin the trip down the main stairs. It's true that I will probably not be going into town today. In fact, I will probably not be going into town at any point in the near future. It's not that I am scared, because of course I am not scared of anything. It's just that, well I'm not sure what it is actually that is stopping me.

It has been so long now since I have seen anybody except the occasional passerby. I haven't left the house since I returned to it a couple weeks after the war was declared over. By then it was nothing but a bunch of empty, extravagant walls with too many security features for the rebels to get through if they could have even found the place. My parents had this house built on the outskirts of town for the reason of privacy and I'm sure that no one besides our few lonely neighbours even know that this place exists.

I become aware of my hunger as soon as my eyes catch sight of the kitchen. I have had no reason to be hungry for most of my life. The closest thing to starving that I have ever been was the months I lived in the family boat dock. There was plenty of food stored there, but I guess it was never meant to be anything more than an afternoon getaway spot.

I draw open the pantry and walk inside. The walls get more bare everyday that I am here taking from them, but I still have enough of most of my favourite foods to last a while before I will have to break into the reservoirs of my father's dried fruit obsessions or my mother's sweet teas. I have never been fond of either, but living how I did has humbled me. I cannot imagine wanting more than I have right now in this house.

Sometimes I think ill of my parents, who fled to who-knows-where before I returned from hiding. After all they did leave me, their only daughter, to live alone in this house wondering if there will ever be a time that they come back. Often, though, I thank them. I was always a bit of an isolated girl. I have found comfort in the peace and silence that I can synthesize in my own mind since before I can remember. Now I am able to live in it. What do I have to scorn my parents for? They gave me what I had wished for for a while.

It's early in the morning and I wonder what I will busy myself doing today. I would love to go venture into the garden, but I fear that my presence would become far too known. I believe that it is best for me to live in animosity, at least for now.

I throw a handful of cashews into my mouth and sit down at the dining table. I remember the time when I would be chastised as a child for making a mess in the kitchen. Well, at least there is no hope of that happening, probably ever again. I'm not sure if I am pleased with the fact that I am probably going to be alone forever or if maybe I have just gotten used to the idea.

I seal up the bag and push it into the middle of the table, suddenly not quite so hungry. It is strange to think that at sixteen I am already all alone. I mean, I figured that I would be after my parents died. Back then I thought I could never love anyone as much as I loved my parents.

Such a long time alone has changed my perceptions of them. What I thought was love and peace in my house with my family was really just a love for the quiet, easy lifestyle that I grew up with. I'm not even sure that I ever really loved them or if they ever really loved me. Can love be expressed just in a beautiful house and an easy life?

* * *

><p><strong>Flint Calloway, 14, District Twelve<strong>

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><p>"Flint is that you?"<p>

I cringe when I hear my mother's voice calling me from the kitchen. It's not that I didn't want her to notice I was gone. I left her a note in my room telling her that I was going into town, just in case she went looking for me and started to panic again. I just hoped she would read the note, not catch me at the door.

For a moment I consider the odds of making it back up to my room without her knowing that I was here. Those chances drop to zero as soon as I see her pop her head out the door and look right at me. I drop my hand from the doorknob and sigh.

"Flint? Again?"

I shrug and do my best to put a smile on my face. It feels too awkward, so I let it drop from my lips a second later. "I'm just going into town for a bit. I left you a note."

"I told you to tell me," she sighs. "I'm right in there, Flint. It can't be that difficult."

"Sorry mom," I hang my head to avoid looking at her. I know that I should tell her when I'm leaving, but it's way too often more trouble than it's worth to her. She gets worked up and worried about the things that could happen, having listened to far too many gossiped stories from her friends. It takes me an hour minimum to get permission out of her. It's way easier just to go and suffer the consequences when I get home.

"You just have to ask me, Flint," she shakes her head and I can see tears filling her eyes. "It's not that hard. It really isn't."

"It is. You never let me when I ask." As soon as the words come off my lips I wish again that I had run back upstairs before she saw me. Her lips part open and she runs her hands down her apron. I want more than anything to have said nothing at all, but it's already happened so I stand firm by it. After all it is true.

"You would never know you don't ask," she says finally.

"Can I go into town?"

She looks at me sideways and I know that was probably the wrong thing to say. But it happened and there is no taking the words back. It's been three days since I left the house last. It's getting ridiculous. I know she is worries about what might happen, but meanwhile I am going crazy in this house. Town can't be any more dangerous than keeping me in here so long that I want to run away for good.

"One hour," she says sternly after a moment. "One hour and that is all. Do you hear me?"

This time it doesn't feel quite so awkward to smile. "Yes, thank you! I'll be back in an hour."

"You better stand by that, Flint." She sends a couple more warnings after me but I am already halfway down the path that leads from our house to the main road. I know she will be counting down the minutes until I am supposed to return, but for now at least I can get a change of scenery.

It's been months now since the last bomb fell, and District Twelve is still rebuilding. We were one of the worst districts hit, or so I have heard a lot of the older townspeople say. I wouldn't believe it if they said we were well off in the Rebellion, in fact. There wasn't more than a week during that time where I would sleep in my own room every night. Bombs and army parades made for many nights of uneasy sleeping in community bomb shelters.

I pass by a vacant lot that is about halfway between my home and the center of town. It didn't used to be so empty. In fact, my best friend practically since we were both born used to live here once upon a time. That time ended three months into the war, when District Twelve experienced the worst bombing we've ever had to get through. Normally the jets targeted city centers and busy areas, but this night they hit everything. Even a small ranch house with one door that would never close quite right.

The day my parents told me about Ember and her family, well, I think I can say with conviction that it was the worst day of my life. Before that it was always big, general areas that were hit. People that I had never met that were killed. It was terrifying, sure, thinking that my family might be next but I never believed we would be. As soon as I heard that Ember, my best friend, was gone I just couldn't look at anything the same way again.

If someone like Ember could be killed in such a terrible way, where the people that took her life didn't even care who she was, then how can anyone say that this world is good? I can't, I know that. If this place was just, it would have been me that died that night not Ember. I almost feel guilty that it wasn't.

I shake my head and force myself to walk past the dead plot of land. It doesn't do anyone much good to dwell on these things even if it is impossible not to sometimes. I have spent so long thinking about Ember, I still do actually. But none of that is going to bring her back here to District Twelve. It's just going to rot my brain until I can let go, which I expect will probably be no time soon.

* * *

><p><strong>Carina Ricter, 14, District Eight<strong>

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><p>I see the lantern walk through the darkness and my eyes glue themselves to the dim light. As the light gets closer, it suddenly disappears and I smile despite the fact that no one can see me. That means the coast is clear and it's finally time.<p>

I jump down from the low branch that I have been perched on since just after sunset. My legs lock just before I hit the ground, causing vibrations through my body as I take on the impact. I jog silently closer to the house, being careful to avoid all of the lights that I spotted during my time in the tree. I'm not about to get caught for something so trivial.

I take out the mini screwdriver that I always keep in my side pocket and get to work unscrewing the bolts on the window. The same routine over and over again, making sure that I keep my small frame tight to the side of the house so that I will be hidden from anyone passing by. I'm not an amateur, I know what I am doing here. Get in, get out, fifteen minutes. Anymore and the risk for someone getting up for a glass of water in the night gets far too high. Any less and I'm not being careful enough.

It takes a couple minutes longer than usual to get the window free, but it comes off easily as soon as I have. Since people started to install these new 'efficient' windows it was almost laughable to get inside. It's hard to feel bad about what you're doing when they make it so easy. I slip inside, feeling around carefully with the tip of my shoe to see if there is anything underneath me.

Just as I begin to come to the conclusion that I'll have to just jump down, the tip of my shoe knocks against something hard. I have to stop myself from letting out a sigh of relief. That would have been very bad if I had jumped down. Cormac, er Dad, would have never let me live that one down. The last time I did that was two years ago and I had to jump right back up the window and run as fast as I could before someone could wake up. He still brings that up from time to time and it takes a lot to laugh off my lost pride. It was definitely not one of my proudest moments.

I slide myself into the room, both my feet landing solidly on the table under me. I slip the window back over the hole in the wall just in case a night walker takes a closer look as they pass by. Once I'm inside I take a quick look around.

Yep I can't see much.

Despite the fact that my eyes have spent almost an hour in that three adjusting to the darkness of the night, I am only able to make out the vague shapes of furniture. I blink rapidly, hoping to speed up the process so I can get to work. After a few seconds I feel about as ready as I'm going to be and I begin tiptoeing across the floor.

I am definitely in some kind of living room, which is nothing new. The best entrances are into either dining rooms or basements, and thankfully this house has a basement. Only the richest people have a finished basement area, which makes that tiny ounce of guilt disappear from my stomach. They can afford to lose what they're about to, probably more actually.

I've been groomed to thieving since I was a toddler. It's the family business after all. Cormac started just before the age of ten, and he was all alone. I still can't imagine how scary that must have been. Even the petty thieving he tells me he took part in for the first year and a half. At least I have always had Cormac, Dad I remind myself, to mentor me. I've learned a lot faster than he probably did, and with a lot less hard lessons.

Up until the beginning of the war, Cormac helped me work my way up from being the lookout all the way up to where I am now going into houses myself. The war presented a rather interesting, and much more profitable, opportunity for people like us. People that have been given the short end of the stick in life and chose to do something to even the odds. One of Cormac's long time friends recommended him to the main guy in charge of the thing, and he found us. Just that fact alone made Cormac both respect him and fear him. We were not easy people to find on any given day by simply asking around.

Both of us were taken in as Runners, in charge of running information between rebel groups when it was too dangerous for ordinary soldiers to do it. It was terrifying at first, then exhilarating a couple days later. For the first time I had more family than just Cormac. There were dozens of Runners, all of them moving around and living in groups. I made friends my own age, Darlene and Jarried, and meeting them was like meeting another version of myself. They had grown up with similar values and experiences. The hardest thing I have ever done was leave them when the war ended and there was no longer a need for Runners. I have yet to see them since and I'm certain the only place I would ever reunite with them is jail.

The life of a thief is a lonely one, that's what Cormac always told me growing up. It has broken me away from most of District Eight and detached me from everyone including my dad. It's hard to distinguish between the times when he is being a father and when he is being an accomplice. Usually it's a mix of both.

I've always had the opportunity to leave him. He has no desire to keep me anywhere I don't want to be and has told me that if I wish to leave that I am welcome to. A few times the thought has even crossed my mind. But if I left I would serve no purpose. This is the only thing I have ever been taught to do. I've never gone to school nor had friends other than my time as a Runner. I wouldn't know how to survive out there. I know I would never leave, this is my life and has been since I was born. There is nothing that can change that- I am a thief through and through just like my father.

* * *

><p><strong>Song: Hourglass by Lamb of God.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: I told you I would update by Friday, so here I am updating on Friday! Next week should be a weird update day again. Oh the joys of midterms. Anyways, we are now halfway through the tributes so that is very exciting! **

_**What do you think of these three tributes?**_

_**Who are your overall favourites out of the twelve you've seen?**_

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><p><strong>Hopefully should be updating around the same time next week or possibly a day earlier depending on how much work I have to do. So yeah, see you all then I guess. <strong>


	7. Humankind

**Chemical Bomb by Aquabats**

_Back in this world of humankind  
>I think we've already lost our minds<em>

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings Part Five<strong>

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><p><strong>Vera Hemley, 17, District One<strong>

* * *

><p>I sigh and spin my chair around at my desk, smiling as the room swirls around me. It's only late morning and I already feel like I am ready to go back to bed. If there's nothing better to do in a few hours maybe I will sneak in a short nap.<p>

"Vera? Are you up yet?" I can hear my mother clambering up the stairs, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she walks.

"Yes, Mom," I call back. Seconds later she opens the door, her face somewhat flushed underneath the deep layers of makeup that she has already spread on despite the rather early hour.

"Vera, did you not hear me calling you?" She asks, leaning against the door frame elegantly. I can't really understand how but everything my mother does could probably be described as elegant. She is a beautiful woman and looks like she could be my older sister despite having just celebrated her forty-third birthday last month.

I'm pleased that I was blessed with her looks, not that having my father's brownish hair and dark eyes would have been terrible either. A good majority of the girls in District One have the same beautiful features that my mother and I share. Tall with blonde hair and a slender frame. I wish I would have inherited my mother's green eyes as well as her hair, but she always tells me that my light brown eyes make me stand out from the other girls.

"I answered you," I smile and she purses her lips.

"I didn't hear you, I guess," she brushes it off and continues. "Your father wanted to know if you had a chance to look at the new book her gave you last night."

"Of course I have," I lie and I can feel my face heating up. When my father came back from his office last night he brought home a medical journal for the third time this week. In all honesty I am still working on the first, though I skimmed the second yesterday morning since I knew that with it being his only day off he would want to discuss it. If she is asking about it that means he's home and wants to talk about it. Not good.

"He's been home sick with a cold all morning, he was wondering if you wanted to discuss it later when you've finished your morning studying," she says with a smile. In all honesty I am impressed that she is able to keep up that cheery disposition about this. Although it has been months since I told them both that I wanted to study to become a doctor, I know I broke her heart.

I think it is fair to say that my mother's biggest dream for me was that I would be as successful as her. In all honesty that probably is my biggest dream as well, but I see it a little bit differently than she does. I don't want to just marry into success and riches. I want to make my own, like my father did. I don't think I was ever made to just be something nice for my husband to look at while he counted his money. It would bore me to death to be nothing more than a trophy wife.

"I'll go down in a little while, I just need to finish this chapter," I reply. "Is he in his office?"

"Of course," she laughs. "Where else would he be if he is at home?"

I join in her laughter. It's true that my father has been and always will be the hardest working man I have ever seen. He works six days a week, only taking Wednesdays off for the past ten years, for over ten hours a day at the largest hospital in District One. When he isn't at work he is at home, writing up his own journals in hopes that someday he will be able to send one or two in for publishing.

I definitely got my medical know-how from him. Especially during the war, I learned more than I probably ever would have been able to otherwise. I mean, of course I spent many afternoons flipping through my father's journals and some older ones that he's kept lying around his office. But during the war one of the only things to be hit hard by the Capitol bombings was our hospital.

Thankfully, my father and some of the other doctors were able to salvage a lot of the equipment from the ruins- some even had old equipment in their houses for whatever reason- and they all set up temporary hospitals in their homes. After watching my father treat patients for over a month he asked me if I wanted to help out and the rest is history. I fell in love with helping people and the power I had to do well for them when they needed it most.

"Also I am making lunch and it will be ready in about half an hour so come down for that before you and your father get into one of those long discussions," she tells me. "I'm making your favourite, chilli and homemade bread."

"Thanks, I'll remember to come down." I let my eyes fall back down to the textbook I have spread out on my desk and she takes the cue to leave, shutting the door quietly behind her. As soon as I hear her shoes clicking down the stairs I get up and rush over to my nightstand, pulling open the top drawer and grabbing the journal.

I cringe when I realize how thick the book is. There is no way I will be able to get through much of it before my father will be expecting me in his office. Hopefully he'll take the excuse that I could only get through the first few sections this morning along with my normal textbook readings. I really hate to have to lie to him again.

* * *

><p><strong>Dallas Audrinne, 17, District Five<strong>

* * *

><p>"Okay next question," Amian says between giggles, pressing her hand to her lips as if in deep thought. "Gwyn, would you rather spend a night with Mathias or Tallen?"<p>

The three of us explode into another fit of laughter at the very thought of having to decide. This question always seems to come up in during our games of Ask and Tell. Not because the two boys are both equally irresistible, well I guess they are in some sense. They are both around the zero mark on the irresistibility scale.

"I always get this one that's not fair," Gwyn whines and Amian doesn't even pause in her laughter. Neither of us has to explain to Gwyn that she has no choice but to answer, it's the name of the game after all. Someone asks a question and you tell them the answer, no matter what.

"Fine," she groans. "Tallen."

"Ew!" I exclaim, even the thought of my pretty friend having to spend even a moment with the greasy-haired boy from school making me sick and amused at the same time.

"Okay I answered, my turn," Gwyn grins and turns to Amian.

"Me again?" Amian sighs. "Come on, pick Dallas this time this is getting unfair."

"Amian," Gwyn says, appearing to not even have heard her plea. "If a wealthy man asked you to run away with him and get married, but never see anyone you know ever again, would you do it?"

I watch as all the blood runs from my friends face and I can't help but feel a little bit bad for her. It is no secret that she has lived in one of the poorest regions of District Five for her entire life, but her family is everything to her and more. While she always fantasizes about breaking out of the cycle that her family has been in fro generations, I'm not sure she would be able to cope without her sisters.

"No," she sighs. "I don't think I could do that."

There is a bit of silence after she says that and I wonder if the game is over now. There is always a time when one of us goes a bit too far, but I didn't think Gwyn's question was enough to make Amian want to quit. This is probably her favourite game and it is usually her who suggests it.

"Dallas," she says finally and I perk up again. Truth be told, I like this game as well even if I often pretend I hate it. This also means Amian isn't too upset, which is always a plus. She's generally the most sensitive of the three of us and Gwyn and I sometimes find it difficult to bite our tongues.

"If you had the chance to visit your parents, would you do it?"

This time I'm sure it is my face that goes pale. My eyes immediately fly to the floor, the discomfort of looking at either of my friends simply too much for me to handle. Why would she ask me that? She knows. Is she trying to be a bitch right now because it sure seems like it.

I can feel my body shaking and squint my eyes just in case I might cry. My parents are a sensitive subject, both of them know that. "I have to go, I promised my aunt I would be home early tonight to help with dinner."

"Oh come on Dallas don't go," Gwyn calls after me as I get up to grab my bag. "She didn't mean anything by it."

"I'm sorry you don't have to answer!" Amian tries, but I am already several feet away with no intention of turning back. I mean what do they expect, really?

"I'll see you guys later," I call back without turning around.

They know better than to try to come after me and so I walk the ten minutes to my aunt's house in comforting loneliness. It's nearly five o'clock so Aunt Margeaux and her daughter, Fami, are already there are preparing dinner. I don't bother to ask where Rowler is because neither of them are likely to know anyway. He prefers to go for walks alone when he gets back from work or school, that is just how he is.

"Dallas, you're home early." My aunt greets me as soon as I slip in the back door. She is standing at the kitchen counter with a peeler in one hand and a half-prepped potato in the other. Fami also looks up from where she is chopping up carrots at the dining table and smiles when she sees me.

"Gwyn had to go visit her grandmother so I figured that I would leave as well," I nod. "Do you need any help?"

"You can help Fami with the vegetables," Aunt Margeaux says, motioning towards the kitchen table. "Make sure you chop them nice as thin so they cook quicker."

I sit down across from my cousin and pick up a broad knife and a handful of celery. While I would obviously much rather be hanging out with my friends, I never really mind spending time with my aunt's family. Especially helping with things like preparing dinner or doing the cleaning. It makes me feel like I'm more part of the family than just a freeloader with nowhere else to go. Aunt Margeaux insists that she loves having me here but it's hard for me to see that. After all who would want to take care of the daughter of two convicts?

* * *

><p><strong>Verden Arell, 17, District Nine<strong>

* * *

><p>"Lucky you, Verd," I hear the voice over my shoulder and I turn around to see Serder standing over me. The greasy, creepy owner of the grain mill is known for appearing out of nowhere to get a reaction. Having worked here for years, even over the wartime, I have gotten very used to it and I don't even flinch.<p>

"Hello Serder," I nod politely and set the grinder down a notch so that it won't overheat.

"You're done for the day," he says, a dry cough interrupting him halfway through the statement. "I'm going to have Hector finish up for the day by himself."

"I was supposed to stay another hour and a half," I say, narrowing my eyes. I've always had set hours here, that is part of the reason why I've stayed here for so long. Having your hours set out each week is something that isn't common in jobs anymore, but despite Serder's demeanour he has always been good about it.

"Production's down this week, I can't afford you both, Verd."

"Send Hector home then," I say, trying to stay calm even as I feel my anger seething through the spaces between my teeth. "I need the money this week, we had to pay school dues on Tuesday."

"Sorry, Verd," Serder grunts. "Get a move on, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Serder," I try again. "Come on please, I need the hours this week."

"You still got plenty more than the others, Verd," he reminds me. "Sorry, my hands are tied you have to go early tonight."

I throw my gloves down on the ground and head out to the back room to collect my bag. I've been loyal to Serder for years, that's why I have the longer hours than the other workers. They've only been here a few months except for Lex, who started three months after I did. This is damn unfair of Serder, he knows I need the hours.

I rip my bag off of the hook in the corner of the room and ignore Serder as he comes in behind me. I know it's bad of me to be angry with him, but at this point I don't really care. It's been years that I have been with him. I deserve every privilege he gives me.

I storm past Hector to get out of the mill and he nods in my direction with an apologetic look. I don't even acknowledge him even though I know he isn't the one to blame in this situation. I leave the mill without another word to either of them.

It's only about a fifteen minute walk to get home, and the chill of the night manages to take some heat off of my anger before I get home. When I walk in the door the house is just as dark as it always is. It's hardly eleven now, but I know that Narelle and Pavla will have gone to their rooms by ten. Mom probably turned in early as well, she's slept a lot more than she used to lately. Silly me to think she might have finally come to some sort of terms with what happened. Neither her nor Pavla seem to have found the ability to forgive me quite yet.

I walk past the girls' door and I can hear whining from inside. I stop right outside the door and listen closer. Yes, definitely Narelle. I enter the room without knocking and my eyes skim over Pavla's bed where my fourteen-year old sister lays in a deep sleep.

In the bed across from her, Narelle tosses and turns with her hands balled into fists and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Without even having to wake her up and ask her I know she is having another nightmare, nothing new since they've been plaguing her for the past few months.

I gently shake her shoulders until her eyes fly open. She whispers my name and latches onto me and I can't help but smile. Nothing much nowadays seems to give me a reason to, but Narelle has a way of squeezing smiles out of me without even trying.

"Shh," I hear Pavla hiss from across the room. Narelle looks up at me and I shrug.

I lean down close to her and whisper as quietly as I can so that I don't annoy Pavla anymore. "Do you want to come sleep in my room tonight?"

Narelle nods softly, and with her big, tired eyes staring up at me I can tell that there was no way I was going to leave her behind anyway. I put one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back and lift her off of the bed. I kick the door open in front of me and shove it closed again with my foot. Narelle puts her hands over her mouth to keep from squealing in delight.

"What are you doing?" As soon as I hear the voice come from the crack in the next bedroom door I can feel the smile dissolving right off my face. I allow my steps to slow just a bit until I see my mother's eyes peeking through the crack.

"She had a bad dream again," I admit and now I even I can hear the tiredness in my voice again.

"Keep it down," she says shakily and her face disappears a second later. A moment later I realize that I am still standing in front of her bedroom with Narelle looking up at me expectantly. I try to force the smile back to my lips but it's gone, so I trudge the next few steps to my room. I place Narelle lightly on the bed and pull a pillow down onto the floor for myself, lighting a candle and setting it on the nightstand because I know she is still afraid of the dark.

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><p><strong>Song: Chemical Bomb by Aquabats<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: Updating despite the fact that I am still in the middle of midterms. This chapter went quite quick for whatever reason, and I am pretty happy with how it turned out so I hope you all are as well. **

**You have now read about 15/24 of the tributes so only nine more (three chapters) to go before we start with the more interesting stuff! If you have the time a review with the questions below and any general comments about the writing would be very appreciated.**

_**What do you think of these three tributes?**_

_**Who are your favourites out of all the tributes you have seen?**_

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><p><strong>I have no idea when I will be updating next, hopefully not more than a week from now but I will just have to see. I have a pretty hectic schedule right about now but I will do my best not to take too long. <strong>


	8. Running

**Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire**

_If the button is pushed, there's no runnin' away  
>There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave.<em>

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings Part Six<strong>

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><p><strong>Connor Leland, 18, District Two<strong>

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><p>I hate the feeling. The one where you are floating in your own personal dream space and all of a sudden somehow the light feels way too bright and you wake up. It's exactly what happens every morning, because the first thing my mother likes to do when she wakes up at some horrifyingly early hour of the morning is open all of the window blinds in the house.<p>

I open my eyes and sure enough I am greeted by the giant square of light at the side of my room. I groan and roll over, hoping to extract a few more minutes of sleep from the night. A couple minutes of closed eyes later and I decide it's pointless. I push the blankets off of me and sit up, one last yawn coming over my body.

I get up and head over to my dresser, pulling on a long sleeve shirt and a pair of socks. There's no point in changing our of my sweatpants, it's not like I plan on going anywhere today. Maybe a few months ago I might have planned on heading over to Marlon's house or maybe even across town to see Caspian. Nowadays it doesn't seem like that is going to become a habit again. My social life has been quiet over the past little while, not that I really mind that much.

It started a while after the war began, sometime around the few days that followed my sixteenth birthday. I started to get the idea of signing up to help in the war effort. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time and I don't think my mind has changed about that one. Marlon was against the idea altogether, while Caspian tried his best to reason himself into the idea. They didn't get the point of it- there were plenty of soldiers, they would say, most of them older and more fit to serve than I was.

I knew that of course. District Two was lucky enough that there were many willing citizens to pick up a gun or a microphone and fight for the rights of their fellow people. They were all admirable men and women, but they were losing from the very beginning. I wanted to try and help. Maybe make some sort of difference if I could. The idea of just sitting inside or trying to go about my normal life when bombs were being dropped on innocent people was simply not something I could entertain.

Thinking about my months in training forces my eyes instinctually over to the corner beside my bed where a long gun sits against the wall harmlessly. I haven't so much as touched the thing since moving back into my parent's house from the tiny barracks I shared with dozens of other soldiers. It's weird that I feel no desire to pick it up again. I guess without the war there is no use for a gun, though.

I let my eyes settle on the gun for a moment longer before I decide it's time to focus on something else. The worst thing is that I think the sixteen year old Connor saw more longevity for the war. Being a soldier was something I decided on during a time that I had to start looking at options for my future. Without the war it looks like I'm starting over.

I shrink down into my desk chair with a sigh. For a few more months at least I have school before my curriculum ends. After that, who even knows where I will be. I'm expected to have things figured out by now, well before now actually but the war has given me a bit of leeway. In all honesty I have no idea what I'll be doing two months from now when I finish school.

I look up at the paper I taped to the wall about a month ago. I was trying to get some creativity going, maybe finally decide what I want to do with my life. All I managed to come up with was three point form notes. The first says 'With Dad'. It's true that my father owns a small shop that sells any random thing that the mind could come up with, calls it a 'variety shop'. It's his pride and joy, that shop, but I've spent enough time in the little building to know that it's not a place I want to be for the next fifty years.

The second is just a series of question marks, made on a day that I was frustrated beyond belief about three weeks ago. Finally, the third and final point is just one word 'Peacekeeper'. I had thought about it for about a week before writing it down, and so far it's my best option. I know that my parents would be relieved to hear it because at least it would mean I had finally decided on something.

The problem is that these days, Peacekeepers are not very highly regarded in District Two. They were the first barrier between us and the Capitol that tried to keep the rebellion at bay since its beginning. Even now that the war is over, people have not been keen on forgetting the things they have done.

It would be just my luck that the only thing I can even think about doing with my life would make me one of the most hated beings in the district.

I sigh and run my hands down my face. I tear the paper down off the wall and crumple it into a ball. I toss it over my shoulder and bury my face in my arms. What the hell am I doing with my life, I'm eighteen years old for crying out loud. Everyone else already has everything all figured out, why don't I yet?

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><p><strong>Kyra Lacasse, 14, District Ten<strong>

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><p>"Kyra! Over here!"<p>

I kick the ball in the direction of the voice without even looking. Grayson has the ball when I finally stop running and look over at him. His long hair falls into his eyes and he shakes it away, smiling as he dashes for the makeshift net we have set up at one end of the yard. Declan stands in the net, both hands placed defensively out in front of him and eyes flickering between Grayson and I.

I anticipate the pass a second before the ball hits the inside of my foot, and I send it flying towards the net a second after that. Declan sees the last minute past but jumps just short of being able to reach the ball. It is stopped in the net and Grayson runs over to high-five me. I pump my fist in the air and smile as Declan gets up and brushes the grass off of his knees.

"Lucky shot," he grumbles, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance even though all of us can see the smile on his lips. I'm glad it's Declan I scored on and not Grayson, he's the one that sometimes gets a bit heated if he gets scored on too often. Declan and Safire are much better sports about it, especially when it's me doing the shooting. I am the best kicker in our grade, after all.

"No way," Grayson says, his breathing heavy as he jogs over to us. "She doesn't make lucky shots, Dec. We make lucky saves sometimes but Kyra doesn't make lucky shots."

"I know," Declan says, slapping me on the back. "Next game I get her on my time. I think I've had my ass handed to me enough times today."

"Fine," I say and turn around to the other boy heading over to meet us at the net. I just met him a few days ago when Grayson brought him to our last game. He's not the fastest runner but he's a great goalie, I think even better than Declan. Too bad he insists on playing main-field or he could be a real help. "Athen! You're on Grayson's team now!"

"Ah fine," he jokes, hitting Grayson in the stomach when he reaches us. "You play goalie, I'm getting in the groove of midfield now."

When Athen looks away I notice Grayson roll his eyes and have to cough to cover the laugh that escapes. The two have just started to hang out since Athen's mother joined Grayson's mother's gardening group. She brought Athen along after hearing that she had a son his age. Evidently Athen doesn't have many friends, but we're happy enough to have him around. Especially since Safire never comes out anymore, at least now we can play two-on-two again.

"Kyra!"

I groan when I hear my mother's voice calling me. I turn towards my house and sure enough I can see her standing on the porch calling me. I turn back to my friends and shrug. "I guess I have to go, I'll catch you guys later."

"Don't forget, we have a full game on Saturday," Declan reminds me. "We got a bunch of guys from school to come out and play with us for the afternoon, it's going to be awesome."

"I won't forget!" I call behind me as I take off towards my house. I really should not be keeping my mother waiting much longer. Last time she freaked out on me majorly and I promised that I wouldn't stay out so long and I already know that I left just after lunch and it's beginning to get dark. I've been gone for at least five, six hours maybe more.

Before I even reach the porch I can see the stern look on my mother's face and I brace myself for a bit of yelling. "My goodness Kyra, didn't you hear me?"

"I'm here so yeah I did," I say and immediately regret it by the way her expression tightens. "Sorry, it was a long run we were in the field."

"That's so far, couldn't you kids play closer to the house? Or at least closer to Declan's house where his mother could see you better?" She goes on as she opens the back door and ushers me in. I kick off my muddy boots just before I get inside, hoping that I remember to rinse them off after dinner before she sees them. She hates mud almost more than she hates me being late, so my boots will not be allowed inside without a quick rinse at least.

"What's for dinner?" I ask , unbuttoning my sweater and hanging it up on the free hook by the door. The sweater doesn't hang the first time so I have to pick it up off the floor and hang it again, and in that time there is nothing but silence. I turn around and face her, not being able to help the look I give her.

When she still doesn't answer I can't help myself. "What?"

She sighs and runs her hands down her thighs. "Kyra would it honestly hurt you that much to be a little more considerate of things?"

"I said I was sorry I didn't come right away," I whine. This is a conversation I have had way too often with her and it always ends up the same way. I promise to be a little less reckless or whatever and then I break that promise, at least in her eyes, the very next day.

"It's dangerous out there, Kyra. The rebellion might be over but I'm your mother and I worry. I can't help that. The least you could do is make it a little easier on me."

I have to hold in the comment I want to say in favour of ending the conversation now rather than later. Don't get me wrong, I really do hate to upset her. But every single thing I do upsets her, so what am I supposed to do?

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><p><strong>Radimir Ankratji, 17, District Six<strong>

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><p>I squint my eyes and throw a smile at the next woman that passes me. She turns and looks me up and down before moving on, obviously I am not what she is looking for tonight. I consciously broaden my shoulders and puff out my chest just a little bit, so that it looks natural of course. It's a Friday night, not even eleven o'clock yet. I can't understand why the street is so dead, it's always bustling this time of night with people looking for a deal anything from drugs to sex.<p>

I see movement out of the corner of my eye and I automatically straighten my posture again. Unfortunately it's only a young girl, probably no older than ten or so, and her eyes widen when she realizes where she is. This area is famous in District Six and no one comes wants to come around unless their looking for something.

With nothing else to do in the dead night, I find myself taking a closer look at the girl. She almost reminds me of Melita back on that first day I met her. The same scraggly, unwashed hair and clothes to match- the look that comes with living on the streets. I almost can't help myself from feeling bad for the girl, by the stories that Melita has told me about her months out here it's not a pretty life to have nowhere to go.

She told me a few times now about the people that she would see out here, the ones that would try to rope her into things she couldn't even understand just so that they could use her for their own gain. The guilt is always there when I think about how I met her and realize that I was just another one of those people that she should have been afraid of.

It's been a long time now, since the day I met her. Well I guess met is quite a stretch. More like the day I caught her just seconds after she pick pocketed me, grabbing the collar of her dirtied shirt and watching as her eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

It was a lucky thing that she chose that day to try it. Any other day I might have thrown her to the Peacekeepers, it would have served her right for trying to steal from me. But no, that day was one of those times when I've felt particularly vulnerable. Again vulnerable might not be the right word.

I was thinking about revenge.

So rather than throw her to the whips I cut her a deal. I would offer her a place to stay for a few nights and not turn her in, and she would do something for me. She would tell the Peacekeepers about a rebel hideout that she had found. The revenge would be done and I wouldn't have to have really done anything.

Of course she agreed. What other choice did she have? My wish was far kinder than anything that the Peacekeepers would have subjected her to. They don't know the word gentle, not even for young girls stricken by nothing but pure misfortune. Her life for another, a fair trade. My father was executed the next morning on the charge of treason.

I shake the memory out of my head, correcting my posture yet again. These are the thoughts for a later time, I am working right now. If anyone had seen me just now, well, my chances of getting any business any time soon may have just been drastically decreased.

I bite the edge of my lip as a rather young looking woman passes by me but she doesn't even look up from the ground. Slow night, I think again, not able to help the sigh that comes out. These times are the worst. The ones where I am actually having to consciously think about what I am doing and how wrong it feels. It's far easier on the busy nights where someone draws their hand across my wrist and I know the payment is already pretty much in my pocket.

I don't hate this job, well if you can call it that. I mean that I don't hate the fact that I am finally able to do something for myself. The only time I ever get those episodes of rapid heart rate and dry mouth is the first touch. Just like the first time he touched me, the very first connection is the worst. You know it's wrong but you've already gone too far to correct it. Once you get past that first second you're golden.

The next time I look up the street is no longer empty. Women with fluffy coats and men with worn hats are beginning to shuffle down the sidewalk, their eyes intrigued yet not making contact with anyone. Once they make eye contact with one of us, everyone will know. Until then they can pretend that they are just passing by. All of us know, though, what they're here for. The girls have already started to venture out into their doorways, their black eyes and red lips drawing in whoever will look their way.

A man slows his steps in front of me and I lift my eyes to his face. He is well over the age of fifty, with greying hair and wrinkled cheeks. I reach out a hand, careful not to touch him first. That is a big no-no, because anyone not wanting the attention could easily turn the authorities on one of us.

As soon as his fingertips touch the inside of my wrist I am hit with a mixture of relief that I won't be going home empty-armed and disgust at the feeling of his skin on mine. The men are the worst for bringing back the ghost touch of my father, but they always pay more. Boys like me are hard to find.

I swallow my discomfort and gently lead him towards the door I had been standing in front of, making sure to leave my disgust at the door so I can pick it back up tomorrow morning.

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><p><strong>Song: Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: Alright I am here. This chapter was insanely difficult to write for whatever reason, but it is done. Also there are only two more to go, so six more tributes to showcase before we get to really start the story. I'll be excited to get to the point, honestly these are getting to be a bit repetitive (sorry).**

**Also apologizing to the few of you that have had to wait for long to see your character. Shouldn't be too long now!**

**Leave a review if you are so inclined. It would be much appreciated if you would take the time to answer the questions below as well as comment generally on the writing in the chapter. Thanks!**

_**What do you think of these three tributes?**_

_**Who are your favourites out of the tributes you have seen?**_

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><p><strong>Until next time! Bye.<strong>


	9. Direction

**Hold Out Your Hand by Nickelback**

_Too late for another direction  
>Always what we've got in store<em>

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings Part Seven<strong>

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><p><strong>Jalissa Kessey, 18, District Three<strong>

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><p>"Thank you, Jalissa," my mom nods gratefully as I position myself in front of the kitchen sink. I've just woken up, and seeing my mom already starting the house chores has pretty much dictated what I am going to be doing until they're done.<p>

"Welcome," I smile.

"Hey, I'll dry!" Aliyah shouts a second later as she comes bounding down the stairs. Frankly, I'm surprised to see her awake already, let alone showered and dressed. It's hardly ten o'clock and everyone has always joked that she got the late rising gene from our dad while I got early rising from our mom.

"What are you doing up?" I ask, turning around to give her a sideways look before turning on the taps to run the water.

"What do you mean? I'm _always _up by now," she says a matter-a-factly, grabbing a clean rag off of the pile by the door and heading over to stand beside me.

I'm about to say something about that when mom turns around and gives me a wink. "Hush. If she's awake and eager to help with the chores don't discourage her, dear."

I roll my eyes but listen to her and say nothing further. Truthfully I'm glad to have the help, dishes are my least favourite thing to do- actually everyone's least favourite thing now that I think about it. But since mom has already started the mopping I guess I have no choice but to be on dish duty this morning.

"Girls, how would you like to go into town for me in a little bit?" As soon as the words are out of her mouth Aliyah is grabbing onto the sleeve of my shirt with wide, eager eyes.

"Yes!" she answers immediately. If there is one thing that my sister loves it's going into town, especially just the two of us. She's fifteen now and as independent as anything, but mom isn't too keen on her going alone after everything that has been going on since the end of the war. I'm grateful that mom trusts me to keep Aliyah safe, and even though I would be just as happy to stay home for the day I guess I'll take her.

The dishes don't take long with Aliyah breathing down my neck and telling me several times to just go a bit faster. Less than half an hour later and we are putting our shoes on by the front door, and myself a thin sweater even though Aliyah rolls her eyes and tells me that it's not nearly cold enough to need one.

"I just need a couple of things so it shouldn't take you too long," our mom tells us, grabbing a few bills and a handful of coins out of the jar on top of the kitchen cupboard. "I'm out of tea leaves, whatever has the best price. We need a loaf of bread for dinner. Oh and there should be enough left over for you each to pick up a treat from the sweet shop."

"Awesome, thanks mom!" Aliyah grins and holds out her hand to take the money.

We're out the door hardly a minute later, stepping carefully around the puddle's that last night's rainstorm left on the steps. Twice before we are even out of view of the house I have to call out for Aliyah to slow down for me to catch up.

"Come on, Lis'," she urges me for the second time, her arms folded impatiently across her chest.

"I don't see what the big rush is," I laugh, rolling my eyes at her urgency. I know she just wants to get out of the house, she's been like this since the end of the war came about and leaving the house finally became a possibility. The stir-crazy attitude she developed over the while spent in our shelter has not subsided even a little bit.

Like a lot of the people that didn't outwardly support the rebellion, my family and I spent much of the war- especially the last months of it- just trying to stay out of the way of it all. My parents were employed by the Capitol, and their pay was something they couldn't be ungrateful for. But they understood the reasons for why the nation was rebelling. I guess in some small way they agreed with the districts, but they always told me that this war wasn't theirs to fight.

Our basement was built into a safe house, the best that they could come up with for Aliyah and I during the time when supplies were difficult to come by. I still remember the first time we went down there. It was dark and small, but it felt safe. There was not much for us to do down there, but they made sure to stock the room with books, puzzles, and scrap paper.

"Hurry up," Aliyah groans from in front of me and I smile and shake my head at her. That is the best thing that came out of staying in the safe house for as long as we did. Before that time, Aliyah and I were not near as close as we have become. Now, I can't imagine not having my sister as my best friend.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I grin as I catch up to her. By now we are entering the busy part of town where all the shops have been reset up. The war was difficult on anyone that owned a house or shop in this area of town. I remember walking around with my mom a few days after we left the safe house. District Three was a mess. There was dust and rubble everywhere and nothing was recognizable to me. Not the sweet shop or the bakery or anything else.

The town has come a long way since then. Most of the shopkeepers have either rebuilt and reopened their stores or sold their property to someone who could afford to buy it. At least a good amount of the stores that I used to visit after school are still up. They look a bit different, but in all honesty I think it would have been strange if nothing had changed. So much has changed about the people walking around, I think it's almost poetic for the town to reflect that.

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><p><strong>Merryn Celtey, 15, District Seven<strong>

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><p>With one more pull the weed comes free, sending me flailing back where I land with a groan on the ground. I toss the weed aside into the pile I have been pulling all morning and position myself over the next one. I just went over the gardens a couple days ago, it's amazing how quickly these things can grow back. If the vegetables grew this fast I don't think it would be a problem for us to feed most of District Seven during the growing season.<p>

This next one comes out far easier than the last. My mother always offers to help me when she wakes up, but by then I am already halfway done and in the groove of it, so I usually decline her offer. These gardens have always been my sanctuary, since I was big enough to help my mother pick the beans off of the bean plants. Since then I've grown our backyard into what I like to think of as a forest of flowers and vegetables.

Most of the vegetable plants are my mother's, which were planted a very long time ago by my grandmother who spent the best years of her life out here. My grandmother used to say that the gardening gene skipped a generation to pass over my mother before getting to me. It's not difficult to agree with her, my mother hates getting dirty or even really being outside.

The flower plants are all my doing, though. About three years ago I got to digging up a good portion of the backyard. I waited forever for permission, my mother didn't see the point of growing flowers since we couldn't eat them. Finally she said yes, but made me promise that I would continue tending to the vegetable plants first and not use any of the good fertilizers on the flower plants.

I turn and look over at the rows of tulips and a smile automatically comes over my face. Vegetables and fruits are nice to grow, but they're only nice to look at during the harvest months. Before that they are nothing but mounds of green leaves. Our yard looks so much nicer now that there's a little more color.

"Hey! Merryn!" The sudden voice causes me to jump and the weed I'd been holding comes out of the ground, stem only. I groan, knowing that I'll have to go digging for the roots so that they don't grow back in the same spot.

I turn around and roll my eyes when I see Finley running out from the forest, nearly tripping over several trunks on his way over. Finley has lived straight through the forest from me for as long as he and I can remember, no more than an eight minute walk, but we only met when we were seven and he stumbled upon me playing in a clearing of the forest. Ever since then it has become usual for me to see him at least every other day, usually more.

Just before he reaches me he looks up from the path he's running on and promptly trips over a root, causing him to fall right to his knees. I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud and run over to help my friend, making sure that I check the ground as I do.

"Finley are you alright," I giggle as I kneel down beside him.

He pushes himself up from his chest and back up to his feet, brushing the grass from his knees and palms. "Ah man, my mom's going to kill me."

I shake my head and laugh. Finley's mother is always getting on him about the state he comes home in every night. My friend is many things but careful and cleanly are not any of them. He always manages to get mud and grass all over himself, even when he tries his best to be careful. It drives his mother crazy.

"Hey what are you doing on the ground, Mer?" He laughs, pulling me up before I even have to chance to ask for a hand. "You're so clumsy sometimes, geez."

I roll my eyes and brush off my knees as well, even though I'm wearing a skirt and there will be no stains. "I know, it's a real problem. I'm glad I have you here to make sure I don't trip over my own feet all day long."

"Exactly," he says and throws his arm around my shoulder as I walk back towards the gardens. "See, I'm good for something!"

"Never said you weren't," I laugh. "But I have work to do, so maybe come back in a little bit? Sorry."

"But I'm already here," he sighs dramatically. "If I walk all the way back home I might trip and fall again. And with you not there to save me... I don't know if I'll make it, Mer."

"You are so dramatic, Fin," I sigh. "I'm almost done, if you want to chill, but I have to finish before we go anywhere."

"Of course!" He shouts suddenly. "The flowers must come before your friend. They depend on you, and with one single minute less time from their beloved caretaker they might all perish overnight."

I roll my eyes and sigh again. "Fine, I was pretty much done anyway. I guess they can wait until tomorrow morning."

"A-are you sure?" He sputters in mock horror. "They can wait?"

I hit him playfully in the stomach and smile. "Stop it. My goodness, Fin."

"I'm just joking with you, what do you want to do?"

I think for a second before answering. "My mother was baking cookies the last time I went inside. I bet they're done by now."

Before I even finish my sentence Finley is taking off towards the house, and even at my fastest I am in no way capable of catching my hungry friend.

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><p><strong>Harlan Pearce, 12, District Eleven<strong>

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><p>I can't remember a time when I haven't been at one extreme or another. The days too warm, the nights far too cold. The shade like a frozen shadow and the sun like a burning blanket. I can never get comfortable, not even in sleep. I'm always too <em>something<em>.

As people pass by me I try and force my eyes toward them but even after months out here I cannot make myself do it often. It's embarrassing at the very least, selfish at the worst, to have to depend on the generosity of people passing by. Another thing it is is empty. My hands, my stomach, my eyes. All empty. I have to depend on people who also have nothing, and so even on the best days all of me is empty.

"Hello, my boy," I look to my right and see Dorian standing over me and I cannot help but smile. Even after I stopped going into his shop he has found ways to come check on me. He used to give me the best return for anything I brought in, even though I know now how hard it was on him to do so. I'm grateful that he still cares at least a little bit about me. No one else seems to give a damn.

"Hi Dorian," I smile. "How's the shop?"

"Oh you know, slow as ever," he laughs. "The wife's getting on me about selling it again."

"As if you'd ever do that," I reply. Dorian is in love with his shop, sometimes I think even more than his wife or two sons. The little trinket shop is no bigger than the one room house my parents and I used to share before we fled District Eight, but it's his pride and joy. The day he sells it would be the same day that he sells his left arm, it's just not going to happen no matter how tight things get.

"Hush, don't let her hear that," he shrugs but the smile stays on his face. "I told her I would think about it. How are you doing, son?"

I know he doesn't mean anything by it, but every time he calls me 'son' it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I haven't seen my parents for over a year and a half. Not since we reached the edge of District Eleven one night and got caught in the cross fire of an outside rebel attack. I never even knew where they went, they just disappeared according to what I can remember. I woke up tucked between a couple of thick tree trunks, my head aching and bruised but other than that unharmed.

I'm not stupid, I know there is almost no chance that they are still alive. I might not remember much from the night, but I remember the guns from both sides. I can't believe I didn't have a dozen holes through me, but it's a far stretch to think that all three of us got out whole.

"I'm doing fine, thanks," I say. It's not the whole truth, but it's enough of it. Nothing particularly bad has happened lately, so I'm doing fine. Nothing particularly good has happened either, but might as well leave this fact out. Dorian is too kind a soul not to help me if I really need it, but I know he's stretched too thin already with his family to feed. I'd rather not worry him anymore.

"I better get back to the shop," he sighs regretfully. I know that he wants to help me, but he doesn't dare offer it either. His marriage is stressed enough, and his wife would kill him if she knew he was giving anything away to a street orphan. He doesn't owe me anything.

I nod and he turns to go, but turns back around a second later with a strained smile. "Take care of yourself, son. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You too, Dorian," I call after him. I'm always grateful when he leaves, but then sad at the same time. I love seeing Dorian, he's the closest thing to a friend I have had in a long time, but I know I stress him out too.

The war was an easier time, as terrible as it is to think. At least then I had somewhat of a job, if one can stretch to call it that. Most people shied away from the bodies that lay with gunshot wounds in their heads and hearts that were tucked away in narrow alleyways. Anyone willing could get any number of things that could be sold from the corpses if they were willing to get over the terrible thing they were doing. A couple weeks on my own and I was way more than willing.

It wasn't so bad if you closed your eyes. In a way it was almost better than stealing from people that were still alive. At least you couldn't get whippings from taking from corpses. I wasn't good at going undetected, but dead people can't feel your hands in their pockets. As it turns out, I'm better at tuning out my morals than at tuning out the pain of whips.

It's amazing the things people can do when they have nothing. Survival is an instinct you can't control. No matter what you have to do, you won't just let yourself starve. If you see a way out you're going to take it. It's easier to forget your morals than the rumbling in your stomach.

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><p><strong>Song: Hold Out Your Hand by Nickelback.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: Alright look at that, I am here again. I'm pretty stoked that I only have one more of these pre-reaping things to write and then I will get to begin with the cool stuff. Hopefully this chapter doesn't seem too rushed.**

**It would be very appreciated if you could leave a review for me to answer the questions below as well as give a general review on this chapter's writing. Thanks!**

_**What did you think of the tributes from this chapter?**_

_**Who are your favourites out of the tributes you have seen so far?**_

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><p><strong>Next update will likely be this weekend, and since I will be off for reading week all next week I hope to get a few updates out fairly quickly. Until next time!<strong>


	10. Borderline

**Frozen Warnings by Nico**

_Frozen warnings close to mine__  
><em>_Close to the frozen borderline_

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings Part Eight<strong>

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><p><strong>Venice Durante, 18, District Four<strong>

I gasp as I am suddenly awoken by the sound of something falling beside me. I sit up, startled, and just as suddenly a smile spreads across my face when I see the very book I was reading has fallen out of my hands and onto the floor.

I get up and frown, retrieving the book from the floor to see that I have lost my spot yet again. I lean up against a nearby bookshelf as I pick through the pages to try and have a guess at where I left off. The last thing I remember, a delivery runner had arrived at the house and Mr. Jackson had been just about to open the door...

Ah, I smile as I find the page and fold the corner of it back before closing it again. There is only a few more chapters left, but as eager as I am to finish the read I know that I have already spent far too much time in the story and far too little time actually taking care of the library. I blush at the thought of my father coming in and seeing me, asleep in the corner with a book in my hand, as if I had never grown up at all.

It's true that I probably haven't, not that I would very much like for him to see that. I am far more responsible than I used to be, but that isn't to say I still don't love to lose myself in a book for an afternoon. My father used to say that I caught the fantasy bug as soon as I first stepped foot in the library, and I suppose he would be right. I have loved reading for as long as I can remember. Everything from a nice, faraway fantasy novel with knights and kings to a history book that many would claim was far more fantasy than anything I read about dragons.

"Um, excuse me?" The voice behind me makes me jump and I spin around to see a young boy with a bored-looking expression and a messily written note in one hand.

"I'm so sorry," I blush. "What can I help you with?"

"I need to find something about," he begins, glancing down at the sheet of paper in his hand. "Photosenses. It's for school."

"Photosynthesis?" I try, holding back a laugh but unable to keep the smile off of my face.

"Sure, whatever," he rolls his eyes, seeming if possible even more eager to leave the library. "Do you have anything on that?"

"Of course, follow me." I lead him up to the rather small section that we have on science-related topics. Truth be told, it is the smallest subject area that we have books on even though it has always been an area that I found passion in. I've read every book we have about the topic at least twice, probably more if the book had any sort of grounds or applications that I could relate to.

I scan the titles for a few seconds before pulling a small book on plant life off of the shelf and handing it to the boy. There is another, much larger, version that would probably better suit whatever project he has but I think the short version will do the trick for him. He thanks me quietly and I lead him down to the checkout counter where he leaves a stack of two coins, his name, and a promise to have the book returned by the end of the week.

I jot down the information in the registry we keep under the desk and place the coins in the safe beside it. I don't really see the point in having the system in place in the first place since no one has ever even tried to steal from the library. Every time I have brought up the topic of taking it down my father keeps up the same argument. That the fact that we have never been robbed is proof his system works just fine and doesn't need any tuning.

_If it isn't broke, don't fix it. _I smile to myself, thinking about the sort of motto that my father has been saying at least since I have been old enough to remember it.

"Son, are you in here still?" I hear my father come inside and I rush to the front to meet him.

"I'm right here," I say as I jog towards him and take the top half of the stack of books out of his arms. He huffs something of a thank you and we carry the books over to an empty cart to dump them. I pick up one of them and leaf through it, amazed at its near perfect condition. "Wow, where'd you get all of these, they look brand new?"

"Old woman down the street just died, her son found these in an old trunk and decided he didn't have any use for them so he asked me to pick them up." He smiles as he props the stacks of books up neatly on top of the cart. "If you don't mind putting labels on these and getting them up on the shelves I would be very grateful."

"Of course, dad," I begin to say, but when I look up he is already halfway out the door. I sigh and start pulling the cart over to the desk. I guess he's just too busy to hang around. Today and every day.

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><p><strong>Sampson Ellios, 15, District Eight<strong>

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><p>My stomach rumbling, I head downstairs and see my family is already seated around the kitchen table. My brow furrows and I raise my voice to try and be heard above the banter. "Hey, is lunch ready? Why didn't anybody call me down?"<p>

The chatter continues and I slump down into a seat, deciding that it doesn't really matter anyway. I'm here and I didn't miss lunch, right? I intercept the passing of the bowl of casserole and spoon a couple of scoops onto the plate in front of me. Tyson shakes his head and grabs the bowl out of my hands. I give him a face but he doesn't much seem to notice.

"Could someone pass over the milk?" I all but yell, and this time my sister, Lila, hears me and shoves the jug towards me. I stand and retrieve the container and pour myself a tall glass before, yet again, Tyson takes the jug to fill his own glass. I roll my eyes even though it doesn't bother me much. I was done after all.

Everyone else finishes well before me, clearing their dishes away and scurrying off to their respective duties. My father running out the door to work, where he will probably be late for the third time this week. Lila grabbing her bag by the door and heading out to see her boyfriend. Tyson, well, who really knows where he goes all day.

"Can you do the dishes when you're done, sweetheart?" My mother calls over her shoulder as she heads upstairs for her afternoon nap. I don't even take the second to answer, knowing that she won't really care either way as long as the dishes get done before she wakes up.

I spoon the last few bites into my mouth and down the milk still in my glass. I sigh and get up, dumping the remaining dishes into the sink and starting the water. She wouldn't notice if I were gone for the day but I can bet she would notice if I left the dishes unwashed. I shake my head, the bitterness is nothing I'm not used to but it still won't help anything.

I glance at the clock as I finish scrubbing the last few plates and placing them in the dish rack. Shit. I promised Tater and Jackson I would meet them at one-thirty and it's already one-twenty. It's not like they probably won't expect me to be late again, I seem to have inherited that gene from my father, but I just hate to constantly make them wait.

I dry off my hands and decide to skip the shower today in favour of being just a few minutes late instead of a full hour. I run upstairs and grab a sweater off of my desk and pull it over my head as I rush down the stairs, nearly tripping down the last three steps. I step into my shoes and clumsily tie up the laces before running out the door. A few feet across the yard and I remember to turn back and lock the front door.

Just as I expected them to be, Tater and Jackson are sitting around the school yard when I jog around the corner. Jackson sees me first and slaps Tater in the stomach, pointing to where I am running from. "Hey! You're early, Sam!"

I laugh, knowing he has to be joking. The clock was five minutes to one-thirty when I left and it's at least a twenty minute run over here. Maybe he's making fun because I'm usually a lot later than this, but oh well maybe I'm just getting better at monitoring the clock.

"Oh, were you not expecting me?" I say sarcastically. "I can turn around and go back, maybe come back in about an hour or so when I'm really late."

Tater laughs and gives me a high five when I finally reach them. "Good to see you, man."

"You too, Tate," I smile. It's nice to be around my friends again, not that I usually go more than a day or two without seeing at least one of them. "What are the big plans for today?"

"Um, foiled," Jackson says shyly. I raise my eyebrow at him and he puts his hands out defensively. "I'm not allowed to go into town for a week after my dad found out about the bakery prank. He didn't find it as funny as I did."

I shake my head. Jackson is always getting into trouble in one way or another. A month ago it was a crazy prank idea that ended with half of his mom's garden going up in flames and then just last week the baker dragged him home by the ear without even stopping to wash the flour out of his hair. "I can imagine. The baker was pretty upset even when I stopped in a couple days ago to pick up a loaf. By the way I blame you that there was no change leftover to buy a sweet. He definitely overcharged me for the bread because he knows we're friends."

Jackson shrugs. "Your fault for being associated with me I guess?"

"It really is," I smile, not even able to keep up the facade of anger for a minute. Even with his, rather annoying, tricks Jackson is impossible to stay mad at him. Thankfully I have managed to avoid getting in too much trouble by him, but I imagine it's only a matter of time before a flour-coated baker drags me home one day.

"So, any luck with that girl?" Tater interjects, changing the topic over to me.

This time it's my turn to put my hands out, but just the mention of her makes it impossible for me to keep the smile off of my face. Sheria is a beautiful girl in the year above us, with bright red hair and a personality to match it. One of my school friends introduced me to her two weeks ago and I haven't been able to get my mind off of her since.

"Sheria?" Jackson laughs. "Forget about her, man. She's even more unattainable than Kyla, you know the girl you liked last week. Remember her?"

"You'll be the one that's laughing when I finally make my move," I say defensively. Maybe it's true that I have liked a lot of girls before her, but Sheria is different. Jackson and Tater always doubt my skills with even talking to girls, but I'll prove them wrong when the right moment comes along. What would these monkeys know about romance anyway?

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><p><strong>Ariella Saville, 14, District Twelve<strong>

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><p>"Ariella? Honestly, I know you can hear me, unlock this door right now!" I can hear my mother banging on the door from the outside but I don't even look up from the sketches I am working on. Why would I? It's always the same thing she wants to yell at me over. Is there really any point in me even listening?<p>

I have locked myself in my father's study all morning, the only room with a working lock in the house, with only vague interruptions from my mother's insistent banging. Is it too much to ask to be left alone for once in a damn blue moon? I didn't think so, but apparently it is. I just want some peace and quiet but I guess I am not going to get that here.

I get up from the desk, shoving the papers and pencils into the pocket of my skirt and turning off the light. When I open the door, sure enough, my mother is standing right in front of me with her fists clenched and her face as red as a beet.

Before she has a chance to say a word to me I put up my hand to stop her. "I'm going for a walk."

"I don't think so, Ariella." She grabs my wrist and pulls me into the kitchen, sitting me down in the empty chair beside my sister, Mari. "This is getting completely out of hand. You can't ignore my every word. I am your mother!"

I roll my eyes when she isn't looking, and Mari shakes her head quickly. I know that she hates that I do this to our mother, but I honestly don't care at this point. What is the point in treating your parents like humans when they have proven that they are nowhere close to being even that.

It was one of the most recent nights of the war, when bombs were dropping like the leaves off of the trees. District Twelve was hit terribly on so many nights that it is hard to distinguish one raid from the next, but for many reasons this night in particular sticks out to me.

My family spent most of the war on the outskirts of it. My parents never officially chose a side, but it was fair to assume that they wanted the Capitol to be overthrown like most of the district. Twelve had never been treated well and the rebel force was strong here. Anyway, on this particular night there was a knock at the door and I cautiously went to answer it.

I was shocked to see Reian, a girl who was in my year at school. She pleaded with me to let her in, telling me that she had nowhere else to go. I know now that a bomb had been dropped just outside her home and the shrapnel had destroyed the building, as well as killed her two siblings and parents.

I remember feeling completely overtaken with shock as I pulled her inside, her sobs mixed with words of thanks.

As soon as my parents saw her they told her to leave. I told them that she was my friend and she was looking for shelter for just a night. They said no, that we didn't have the room. My father escorted her out as I screamed at him and my mother pushed me into the bedroom I shared with my siblings.

They tried to explain the next morning, saying that if they took in one war orphan than many others would follow her. That was the first time I have ever laid a hand on my father, slapping him hard across the face even as I cried and asked them over and over again how anyone could be so cruel.

"Ariella, could you pass the water?" Mari interrupts my thoughts and as I come back to reality I realize that I have almost broken the handle off of the water jug. I nod and hand it over to her, shaking teh soreness from my hand.

I can still hear my mother ranting quietly to herself from where she stands at the sink, but I hardly care to listen in. I know she is fed up with me, but in all honesty I am pretty done with her as well. They gave me time to get over that night, but is it wrong of me that I wasn't able to? I'm sorry but it's a pretty big moment to process when you come to realize that your parents are just like every other terrible monster that emerged from the war.

In my opinion they don't deserve my forgiveness, not that they have even asked for it. I'm sure if I asked them about it today they would stand by the decision they made that night. Maybe it's good that that happened. I was finally able to what two of my biggest childhood heroes were actually like.

I look up and see that all of my siblings are looking at me. I am the oldest of five, and I'm supposed to be the one setting the example. My parents always say I am acting more like a child than my six year old brother, Kael, but I beg to differ. Kael still childishly sees the good in people, no matter what they have proven otherwise. In fact, all of my siblings do. Even Mari who is only two years younger than me.

I don't want to be the one to ruin their childish views, but eventually they are all going to have to grow up.

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><p><strong>Song: Frozen Warnings by Nico.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: This is the end of Pre-Reapings, wow. As fun as they were I am very glad to be done with them. Next up will be a sort of mashup between the Reapings and the Train Rides. It will make more sense when I actually post it, aha. Like I said this story is going to be very different from what y'all are used to. **

**So yeah, reviews would be great. Just answer the questions below and maybe include a little bit about how the writing was this chapter if you can spare the time. Thanks!**

_**What do you think of these final three tributes?**_

_**Who are your early favourites now that you have seen everyone?**_

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><p><strong>That is all for now. I have two midterms on Monday (kill me?) so don't be surprised if I don't update for another week. It all depends on how studying goes! Bye.<strong>

**EDIT: I have also created the beginnings of a Mentor blog, the link is on my profile (see Children of Blood) and let me know what you think!**


	11. Sorrow

**Fallout by Futureheads**

_You put me down with your thumb,  
>I can see clearly that you point towards sorrow,<em>

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><p><strong>Reapings<strong>

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><p><strong>Hollis Bale, 17, District One<strong>

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><p>"Keep walking."<p>

"What are you doing, don't touch me!" The girl struggles beside me with her hands held behind her in handcuffs. A white clad Peacekeeper hustles her forward with one hand on her shoulder and the other on the top of her back. As anyone could tell, she is none too pleased about any of it.

I shrink back when I too feel a hand on my back, and try to only focus on my footfalls. I don't have time to think about any of what just happened right now, and even if I did I don't think I would want to. I don't even know what's going on right now. I don't even know where we are being taken to.

"How much farther?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. It's strange to hear the fear in my own voice when I address the men escorting us. I can't even bring myself to look up at them.

"We're here," one of them says a moment later and I finally allow myself to look up again. I know where we are, though I haven't been here myself in ages it feels like. It's the train station in all of its dusty and dirty glory. I remember playing here with my friends when I was much younger. Those memories are quickly overwhelmed by the crushing realization of what is about to happen.

"Y-you're taking us away," I hiccup, my eyes wide as I stare at the approaching train. "W-where are we going?"

"You'll see when you get there," he replies. I feel his grip tighten on my shoulder as my body tenses, and that only makes me more anxious. Can someone at least explain to us what's going on? Where are we going? Why are they taking us away?

The wind from the train forces me to take a step backward and the Peacekeeper's grip tightens even further. The train is only a few cars long, not like the ones I remember seeing as a child. Or maybe I just remember them wrong, who knows it has been a while. It stops in front of us and as soon as I see the Capitol seal I almost immediately feel more calm. My mother promised me that the Capitol wouldn't ever hurt me, so at least I know that I will be safe wherever it is that I am going.

"Get on," the Peacekeeper holding Vera nods towards the open door. Vera hesitates to even make a move towards the train, but I step in quickly. As soon as I do, I am released from one set of hands straight into another. This time it is a woman, just as tall and built as her male colleagues, who grabs hold of me and leads me towards a nearby chair.

As soon as I am pushed down into it, the woman releases my handcuffs and straps my wrists and chest down in the chair. I am too stunned about all the security to do anything but let her.

Vera is shuffled in a moment later and seated in the same fashion about a foot to my right. I expect her to say something, as she had done most of the way here, but she remains silent.

"Don't try anything funny, tributes," the woman spits at us and then disappears around into another car. I don't know what she is expecting us to do with our hands and chests strapped down so tightly.

I feel the train begin to move again. It's almost impossible to notice the train's movement with the Capitol's technology, but it helps me to have something else to concentrate on for a while. We must have been moving for nearly ten minutes before Vera breaks the silence.

"What is even happening?" I look over at her and see her staring up at the ceiling, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.

I am about to reply when the woman's voice comes over the loud speaker, making both of us flinch in our seats. "No talking, tributes."

I notice the train slowing down a few minutes later, and I look out the window to see that we are in another train station. I am even more confused than ever- I had spent time convincing myself that we were going to the Capitol. The woman comes back out from the other cart and opens the door.

A girl with dark skin and a long braid is pushed through the door and the woman catches her by the chain between her handcuffs. The girl flinches, no doubt that didn't feel good, and calls out at the woman to take her hands off of her. Of course, the woman doesn't even bother answering. She pushes the thin girl into a chair about three feet away from Vera's chair, strapping her in in the same way she did to us.

I catch the girl's eye for a moment when the woman is going to retrieve a tall, well built boy with a blank expression on his face. The girl looks away a second later and shrinks into the side of her chair as the boy is strapped in beside her. As the woman heads back to wherever she stays when the train is moving, I watch the girl glare at her until she disappears.

The train station disappears from the windows and once again it is a blur of sky, grass, and grey buildings as we move through the district. I have no idea who these three people are that are sitting around me, nor where we are going. All I can think of as I try once again to focus on the train's movement is that I, Hollis Bale have just brought the Hunger Games upon myself and I have not one clue what that means.

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><p><strong>Melita Crescent, 15, District Six<strong>

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><p>I don't think about it when I hear them call Radimir up to the stage. Suddenly, my feet are moving and I am standing right in front of the stage, looking up at my friend as Peacekeepers surround and handcuff him. His eyes are wide and terrified, and I am confident that mine look the same. I see Radimir grimace in pain as they pull him around to face the crowds.<p>

I am already at the base of the steps that he was led up just seconds ago. I don't have time to think, I just have to get to him. To do what, I don't know exactly. I can figure that out later. I just need to rip those handcuffs off of my friend and get him home. Why are they treating him like a criminal when he has done nothing to hurt anyone?

It's not until I am halfway up the steps that I feel hands grab at me. I thrash against them, running up two more steps before I am taken around the stomach and dragged back down to the ground.

"No!" I screech. "Don't touch me, no!"

The crowd is silent, and it appears the ceremony has all but stopped. I catch Radimir's eye on stage, and I think that is what brings me back to reality. They're going to take away my friend. Whatever the Hunger Games are, they're going to happen to Radimir.

"Me! I'm the other tribute!" I try to yell with conviction, but it comes out broken. The Peacekeeper that had grabbed hold of me loosens his grip on me, as if he too is shocked by what I just said. No one seems to understand what is going on, to be perfectly honest I don't either. I just can't let them take my friend away from me. I can't sit by and let him suffer if there is anything I can do about it.

"It, well it looks like we have a volunteer," Mayor Hopkins says, very unsure of his wording. I expect that he was given a very strict script to follow, and now I have just ruined that. I don't even care. The relief floods over me when I am led to stand beside Radimir, so much so that I don't even struggle when they snap on the handcuffs.

"Are you out of your mind?" Radimir hisses. His face instantly contorts in pain as the Peacekeeper behind him pulls at his handcuffs, whispering something that makes any possibility of me answering the question obsolete.

It's impossible to ignore his eyes boring into me. Even when we are led off the stage and towards the dead end of District Six I can still feel his eyes on me. I have no idea what I have gotten myself into, but I know that there was no chance of me doing anything else. Whatever he is about to face, there is no way he is going to face it alone. We take on everything together, it's been a sort of pack since he spared me that time ago.

Besides, what would I do without him? Go back to a life of pick pocketing and sleeping with one eye open next to a trash bin? Nothing could be worse than that.

My breath catches in my throat as we are led into the ruins of what used to be the train station. Countless bombings targeted at it and the surrounding buildings have left the station in shambles. As we walk through the only standing part of the building, a thick arch, I see that there is already a train pulled up.

I swallow hard and the air around me goes even more silent as the understanding dawns on me. They're taking us away? Where are we going? I hardly have time to process the whirl of questions that tornado in my brain before the Peacekeeper behind me gives me a solid push and I unwillingly step into the car.

Instantly I get the feeling of eyes on me, and I turn to my left to see about ten other people around my age already seated in the car. Upon closer inspection, I notice the restraints on their wrists and chests along with the fact that every one of them is silent. If it didn't feel as though my breaths were suffocating me I might have said something just to break the crushing silence.

Another tough grip takes me and marches me down the aisle between the others, pushing me down into the nearest free seat. As soon as I hit the seat, the woman goes to work with the restraints. I am too stunned by the quick, mechanical nature of her movements to do anything but watch.

Radimir comes into the train as soon as the woman has left me and gone to stand at the door again. She leads him in in the same fashion, harshly and quickly, and within minutes he is sitting right beside me. Strangely enough, even in this bizarre situation it is enough of a comfort to me to have him here.

Just as I am about to say something to him, the woman pipes up like she had read my mind. "No talking."

I try and cast an apologetic look over at Radimir, but he doesn't allow me to catch his eye. I can understand that he wants to keep to himself right now. It was a huge shock for me to hear his name being called out in front of all those people, so I can't even imagine how traumatic it was for him. I'll leave him to his own for however long this trip will be, but as soon as we get where we are headed I need to talk to him. Until them I have time to consider all the questions swirling around my mind; like where are we going, who are these people, and what exactly have I just gotten myself into?

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><p><strong>Flint Calloway, 14, District Twelve<strong>

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><p>This entire day has felt like nothing more than a terrible, terrible nightmare.<p>

Waking up to the sound of my mother furiously knocking on my door, telling me that I am supposed to be at the ceremony in an hour. Standing in the crowd of kids and teenagers, staring up at the mayor as he delivered a very vague explanation of what the Hunger Games are. Everyone had their own theories about what they were, but none could be proved or disproved by the information that we have been provided with so far.

Well I guess that doesn't matter, I am going to get an up close look at what they are for myself as soon as I get... wherever I'm going.

I sneak a glance at the girl sitting beside me, Ariella Saville. Just like every other time, she doesn't even turn her head to acknowledge that she sees me. Also like every other time, I am glad that she doesn't. Ariella is a pretty girl, and I am certain I have tear stains on my cheeks. There is no one I can think of that I would like to see me this way, especially not a pretty stranger.

I study her out of the corner of my eye, knowing that I have nothing better to do during this trip. She has been staring straight ahead for the entire time so far, her lips pressed into a very narrow line. I half-wish that we would be allowed to talk, seeing as she doesn't look particularly antisocial and it would likely make the time go by faster.

I guess I will have to be content with simply looking around me. That is what everyone else seems to be discretely doing, but being the last person to get on the train and therefore having the very back seat I definitely have the best view. For some of them I can see nothing but the back of a blonde head or half of a face, and others I can see pretty much all of them.

Especially easy to view without looking like I'm trying to are the pair to my left and the pair directly in front of me. Beside me there is a boy that looks to be a few years younger than me with tan skin and dark hair. He stares down at his feet intensely, as if caught in deep conversation with the dirty laces of his shoes. I feel terrible for him because if I can go just based on looks I'd bet that he is the youngest one on the train so far.

Beside him is a pretty girl with blonde hair and pale skin. She looks to be at least a year or two older than me, and she looks around without seeming to care who notices. When she sees me looking at her, she turns and raises one eyebrow at me. I turn my attention to the pair in front of me, unable to force myself to meet her eyes for another second.

The one sitting right in front of me, also at a seat beside the window, is an older boy with bright blonde hair and blue eyes that I have seen a couple times when he tried to turn around against his restraints. The way his eyes search around like a lost animal makes me feel worse for him than the little boy staring at his shoes.

The girl beside him is easier to see without her having to turn around. She looks more or less to be the same age as me, with blonde hair and almond eyes. She hasn't really looked around much, but I have caught her sneaking a look up at the blonde boy and the others around her every once in a while when she manages to tear her eyes away from her hands.

The others are more difficult for me to see. I note a few in less detail than the four around me. The blonde girl in the second row whose hiccupping sobs have become the only noise I am able to hear other than the breathing of twenty-four closely packed people. The boy with the blue bowtie and dress shoes who has tried at least twice to get the attention of the woman who seems to be in charge here.

Suddenly I can feel the mood in the train begin to rile up again and I find myself wondering what is happening. My question is answered when the scene in the window comes back into focus, no longer a blur of grey, green, and blue. Instead I look outside and see a big slate of all light grey in front of me.

I hear a door open behind me and a stream of Peacekeepers files in from behind me, another coming in from the front of the train car. One of them rushes to free Ariella from the restraints, hustling her off of the car seconds later. Another unlocks my wrists and chest, and pulls me to my feet. My legs wobble under my weight as he slaps on a pair of handcuffs, no longer used to standing after the long time sitting. That doesn't seem to matter, as I am half dragged off of the train behind the blonde haired boy.

My head spins as I am led through brick hallways and into a tiny room. We stand there for a moment, and then leave- suddenly on a brighter floor with windows and natural light. I have just about found my voice to be able to ask where I am being taken, when the Peacekeeper opens a door and pushes me inside.

I am met with total darkness as the door closes behind me. I feel so vulnerable, unable to feel my way around the area with my hands tied behind my back. I sink to my knees and press myself up against the door, the bright light forcing my eyes closed when the darkness is finally filled.

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><p><strong>Song: Fallout by Futureheads.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: What did I say? It's definitely not the Reapings y'all were likely expecting. I hope it was good though, I am a bit nervous about how different I made this chapter. I also really like it and it makes me excited for the rest of the Capitol, when you will all get to see what my mind can come up with given such freedom. **

**Good luck. **

**So yeah, there will be one POV per tribute in the Capitol and then the Games will begin. Hopefully you are all still reading and liking the story, I'm working hard to get updates in (even updating when I am supposed to be studying for my two midterms tomorrow). **

**Reviews are always appreciated if you have the time to leave me one. I'd love to hear your answers to the following questions as well as a general idea of how my writing is coming out. Thanks!**

_**Has your opinions of Hollis, Melita, or Flint changed?**_

_**What did you think of each part of the chapter?**_

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><p><strong>Don't know when the next update will be, hopefully not too long from now. To those of you waiting for <strong>_**Iridescence, **_**I expect there will be an update tomorrow or the next day. We hit a bit of an issue but it shouldn't take too long to fix it. **


	12. Breathe

**Middle of Hell by Queensryche**

_Head reeling, I guess I wasn't dreaming.  
>Heart racing. Hard to breathe.<em>

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><p><strong>Prep One<strong>

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><p><strong>Kyra Lacasse, 14, District Ten<strong>

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><p>I close my eyes as the lights turn on, the brightness feeling like needles stabbing into my eyelids. The wall feels cold under my fingertips as I reach out for something to hold onto. The material is nothing like I have ever felt before, it's dry and smooth, definitely not like the stone my walls are made out of.<p>

It takes almost a minute before I can force myself to pry my eyes back open. Even then, part of me would rather keep them closed. I blink spots from my eyes and wait as the room focuses around me.

I am in a room that is no wider than I am tall, with a piece of cement chained against the wall that sort of looks like a bed. The walls, ceiling, and floor tiles are all stark white and appear even brighter bathed in the light coming from the disk on the ceiling. The only other pieces of furniture in the room are a small table and a single chair, both coloured to match the rest of the room.

I don't even want to touch any of it.

I keep one steady hand on the white wall near the door as I stand, unable to do anything except simply stare at the room. I don't have time to suppress the scream before it echoes through the room as the door flies open to hit me in the back. Immediately I jump forward, nearly stepping onto the bed in my panic.

When I turn around I see a very surprised looking girl who looks to be at least twenty years old. She has long, wavy blonde hair and narrow eyes and almost everything about her screams 'expensive'. The pink dress that hugs her body, the dotted scarf around her neck, even the shiny shoes on her too-small feet. The style of clothing isn't something I can recognize as coming from my district, or likely any district at this point.

My eyes widen. The only people that would be able to afford such luxurious style are the Capitolites. Without meaning to, I take a step backwards away from the woman.

But wait, if she is here... does that mean that I am in the Capitol? Is that where they brought us to in that train? I can feel my heart beating a hundred miles an hour in my chest and for a second I think of how ironic it would be if I died of a heart attack right here, after they had gone through so much trouble to bring me here.

"Kyra?" The woman says unsurely and I nod, my lips not wanting to cooperate with speech at the moment. "Oh good, I was afraid I might have the wrong room. They really should label the outside better, I had such a terrible time finding you and I get to do it all over again to find August when we're done. Joy."

August, that's the blonde-haired boy that came with me from District Ten to here. I never spoke to him, but I wish I could have. He looked so lost on the train just looking around at anything that moved. Not that I likely looked much more comfortable, but still it was difficult to watch.

"Who are you?" I say. Well I mean to say it in my regular voice, but it comes out in such a quiet whisper that I almost feel the need to repeat myself in case she didn't hear me.

"Oh, silly me forgetting to introduce myself," she says with a wave of her hand and a roll of the eye. "I'm Reina, Reina Hulins. I'm your mentor."

"Mentor?" I am even more confused than ever. First there is this strange woman in here that somehow knows my name, and now she's my... mentor? What does that even mean?

"Oh right, they said none of you knew much," she laughs and then clears her throat as if she had practiced this speech a million times over. "I'll be your mentor as you journey through your preparations for the 1st Hunger Games. If you have any questions or concerns I will be here to answer them. Basically I'm going to babysit you and make sure you at least sort of know what you're supposed to be doing."

I must still look pretty confused, because she continues talking after a few seconds pause. "Look, I'm just supposed to stop by and say hi tonight. The real work starts tomorrow so best get some rest. I have to go and do this all over again, so I'm going to head out now."

"What am I supposed to do? Just stay here?" I say quickly. I don't even know this woman but somehow the thought of her leaving makes me panic. I don't want to be alone in this place, I don't even know where I am.

"Bed's over there, press that button if you need to go the washroom," she says pointing to a small almost unnoticeable dent in the wall just above the bed. "I'll leave the television on for you."

On her way out the door, Reina presses another button by the door and a large screen flips out of the wall across from the bed. A second later, the black screen flickers to life with color and I am staring at a Justice Building that definitely isn't District Ten but looks eerily similar to it. My eyes widen as I see a dark-skinned man take the microphone on stage and announce the very thing I heard my mayor say earlier this morning.

"Good morning District Seven. It is a very exciting day as it is the very first time we will be sending in our brave tributes for the 1st Annual Hunger Games. Today, we begin history anew."

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><p><strong>Jonah Lintell, 16, District Seven<strong>

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><p>I'm not sure how, but even amidst all of this chaos and confusion, some lady I just met ten minutes ago has managed to make me feel safer than I have in a long time. I'm not sure if it's the tiredness or panic that is swaying me in her direction, but I could almost hug her right now. Honestly, I don't even think she would stop me if I tried. Unlike everyone else that I have dealt with today, Cateline seems to actually care and even somewhat understand.<p>

"So how are you feeling?" She asks, tilting her head just slightly towards me. Just the sound of her voice makes me feel like all of the stress of the day is just melting off of me. I think it's the softness of her words, or maybe the way her eyes look at mine as if she were actually interested in my response. It reminds me so much of how people would speak to me before the war happened and I lost everything.

No one wants to look at a street kid. It's like they're afraid of catching it. It's been so long of me living like that that I think I've forgotten how it used to be when people talked to you as if you mattered to the world.

"Confused more than anything," I murmur. My eyelids feel like they are collapsing in, but I fear that if I tell her that I'm tired that she will leave me. I couldn't have spent more than an hour in here by myself, but I am in no hurry to do it again. I feel more uneasy in this little room than I have on any night I spent sleeping in an alley.

"That's what I'm here to help with," she smiles. "Tell me what's confusing you and I'll explain it as best I know how."

I consider this for a moment before speaking. "Why are we all here?"

She opens her lips to talk and then closes it again, the look in her eyes reminding me of the look on the man's face right before he told me that I was the only survivor when the shelter collapsed. "I'm not going to sugar coat this, okay? You need to know everything so that you can protect yourself."

I nod but say nothing, the beating of my heart making it impossible to even consider speaking.

"You're here to punish the districts. It was determined that the tragedy that happened during the war was not enough. That's why you're all here, a boy and a girl from each district." She swallows thickly before continuing, never breaking eye contact. "In four days all of you will be transported to a sectioned off, outdoor arena. The Hunger Games, as they have deemed this event be called, will end when only one of you is left."

My heart drops into my stomach and I instantly feel sick. She didn't even have to say the words, I can fill in the blanks enough to understand. "T-They're going to kill us."

"No," she breathes. "You're going to kill each other. That's the point of it, that the Capitol is not the enemy. That we are not to be blamed for what is going to happen."

I can feel my entire body shaking and it's not easy to ignore the burning feeling that sits over my skin. "But the Capitol is to blame. They're the ones doing this. They made this... this thing."

She shakes her head. "You're very smart, Jonah, but they're not going to make it look like their fault. If you kill someone in the arena, they're going to show it like you are the monster. Not them."

I try to say something else but the thoughts can't mould themselves into words. Two kids from each district, so twenty-four of us, put in an arena where we're supposed to kill each other. We're not murderers, by what I heard back home none of us is older than eighteen. I am almost able to comfort myself in the fact that it seems so impossible that any of us will be able to do the deed.

"None of us will do it," I whisper, realizing that I am not sure if I believe it. I don't know any of the people here, not even the girl, Merryn, that I was reaped with. How do I know that none of them would kill me if it was there life on the line? I don't. I don't even know if I would be able to refuse to do it if those were my only two options.

"I'm sorry, Jonah," she chokes and for the first time I see the tears in her eyes as she leans in and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "They have the power and they are going to make sure their game works. I wish there was something else I could do for you and Merryn and, well, all of you guys, but there isn't. You know as well as I do what power the Capitol has. I am so sorry."

I put a hand over my mouth and try to blink away the tears. I look up from the floor for a second and as soon as I catch Cateline's eye I completely break down. She cautiously moves closer to me and I all but collapse into her, tears falling freely for the first time in a long while.

"I don't want to die," I whisper through my tears.

Her arms tighten around me. "I know, and you better believe I am going to do my best for you."

It feels like centuries that I cry into her sweater, probably leaving marks of dirt from my face all over her expensive clothes. I pick my head up and sink back into my chair, blinking hard to try once again to stop the tears. "I'm sorry about your shirt."

* * *

><p><strong>Verden Arell, 16, District Nine<strong>

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><p>"I swear if you try to come anywhere near me I will tear this thing off the wall and pound it into your head," I spit, pointing at the slab of concrete hanging off the walls by metal chains. I'm fairly sure it's supposed to be a bed, but I'm not sure I would give it that much respect.<p>

The woman stands in the doorway with her hands up defensively. By the look on her face it doesn't look like she expects me to actually go through with my threat, but unfortunately for her I am dead serious. I don't know who she is or what she wants with me but I am not going to let anyone else just come and get me and take me where they please. I honestly don't care that no one has offered me a choice in any of this insanity. I'm making my own choice and that is to get these people the hell away from me.

"Calm down or I'm going to have to call the guards," the woman says, the boredom evident in her tone. We have been in this sort of stalemate for several minutes, and it doesn't look like things are going to change anytime soon. I want to ask her who she is, but I feel like that would be giving up in a way. I'm not taking any more of this shit. They're not going to push me around like they have been all day. I'm sick of it. I want answers, but I'm not willing to give up my defensive stance.

"Go ahead," I dare her, keeping both feet planted firmly on the white tiles and both hands balled up into fists at my sides. I'm not afraid to fight her or any of the guards she keeps threatening to call on me. I would have tried getting a few punches into the Peacekeepers back in District Nine if I hadn't been handcuffed so quickly. Now that the restraints are off, I am absolutely positive that I am not going to let them put them back on easily.

"You really don't want that, Verd," she sighs. "But if you insist-"

I don't let her finish the sentence before I throw myself at her. She doesn't even know me, how dare she use the nickname my friends and family call me by. How dare she! Both of us crumble to the ground under my weight and I try to bring my fists down onto her face but she blocks every one with unexpected strength.

I am pulled up from the ground before I even realize the guards have come in. There is one of them on either side of me, wrestling with my flailing arms as I try to shake them. A third snaps a pair of handcuffs on my ankles and then gets to work trying to get them on my wrists.

The woman sits there calmly and dusts off her shoulders before standing up. She looks at me curiously, but oddly enough doesn't look in the least bit surprised or even angry. As the guards finally manage to put the second set of handcuffs on she even takes a step closer to me.

"I like the toughness. Keep that up it will help you in the arena," she says calmly. "I'll advise you not to turn it on me, though. I'm not the bad guy in this situation, and unfortunately I'm one of the only people you'll be meeting that is better for you to keep alive."

I furrow my brow but have no response. I didn't expect her to be so calm, and somehow the fact that she is makes me even more furious and helpless. I wish for another moment that I had been able to punch her in her smug little face, and yet her words make me almost admire her. She has the most guts out of any woman I have ever met.

She turns to leave and then stops mid step as if she had forgotten something. "My name is Petra. It was very nice to meet you, Verd."

My hands tighten once again into fists and I can feel the guards' grips on me tighten as well. I realize now that there is no getting out of whatever I have become involved in. I almost call out to stop Petra from leaving, but I can't bring myself to abandon the last shred of dignity I might be able to salvage from this encounter. Besides, if she came around this time I expect she'll be back.

As I watch Petra disappear around the corner, I almost forget about the three guards around me. "Are you quite done with this?"

"Sure," I say, suppressing the snide comment I so badly want to make. I don't expect it will get me anywhere, but I still don't feel good about giving them the satisfaction of subduing me so easily. Still, I let them sit me down on the bed and undo the cuffs around my ankles.

"What about these?" I ask, turning my back slightly to display the handcuffs still around my wrists.

"We figured you could keep those for a little while longer," the shortest of the three guards says with a slight grin as they all turn to leave. I grit my teeth once again to avoid screaming at all of them, this time because I know that it won't change anything and it would probably make them all feel even better about themselves.

They close the door behind them and I hear the click of a lock, confirming what I already figured out. That I am stuck in here until they decide to let me go or move me or whatever they're going to do. It may have only been a day, but I'm already starting to figure out how things work with these people. I'm at their disposal, and nothing I do is going to change that.

I sigh and sink into the hardness of the bed, separated from me by only a few thin blankets. I might as well get comfortable. I have no idea how long I am going to be here for.

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><p><strong>Song: Middle of Hell by Queensryche.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: Another chapter so soon? Yes. Mostly because I have an essay due in about six and a half hours and I am procrastinating something fierce. Oh well, at least it means updates for you guys! I expect that this chapter will show even more how different these Hunger Games are going to be. Honestly, this is just the tip of the iceberg so get prepared. **

**Basically I have a lot of school work to do so that will (oddly enough) likely mean quicker updates because I love avoiding completing my responsibilities. **

**If you have the time to I would very much appreciate a review answering the below questions and also providing a general review on how the writing was this chapter. **

_**Have your opinions on Kyra, Jonah, or Verden changed at all?**_

_**What do you think about the changes to the Capitol structure that you have seen so far?**_

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><p><strong>That's basically it, now I guess I am off to write that essay.. <strong>

**Bye. **


	13. Extras

**Cannons by Kaiser Chiefs**

_They treat us like we're extras in an epic  
>They treat us like we're mud on their boots. <em>

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><p><strong>Commercials<strong>

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><p><strong>Santana Belmont, 16, District Two<strong>

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><p>The door swings open and slaps loudly against the side of my bed. I am up a second later, shrieking in surprise as I stare back at the man I met last night. He looks almost as terrified as I feel, but I don't see a reason why he should. After all, I am the one that was just woken up out of a cold sleep to the sound of a strange man bursting into my room.<p>

"Quick, get up we have things to do today," he says after he collects himself a bit.

"Did you ever consider knocking?" I say, still trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.

He looks at me like he doesn't expect my response. "No, not really."

"You really should."

"I'll note that," he says, waving off the idea. I'm sure I should expect the same lovely wakeup call from Pascal for the rest of my time here. It's not like I am particularly mad at him, he proved to be at the very least someone that knew what he was doing, but I had just found a comfortable enough position to sleep in. I couldn't have gotten more than a few sparse hours of sleep last night. I should be exhausted, yet I am oddly alright with the prospect of leaving this room.

"Our studio time starts in an hour and we haven't even begun to talk about what your angle is going to be or how we're going to present you." He looks almost as tired as I feel, but his voice is strong and awake even if his eyelids are drooping.

"Studio time? Present me?" These are just two of the questions that run through my head. I remember him mentioning a lot about public appearances last night, but my mind was far too cluttered to take in most of what he was telling me. Especially after he explained what the Hunger Games really are. Understandably, it was difficult to think of much else after that one.

"I'll explain on the way, we've got to go now," he says, rolling his eyes at my questions. Well what does he expect? "I should have sent a Peacekeeper in for you, would have taken less time."

"I'm glad you didn't," I mumble. I'm not much a fan of the white-outfitted guards, especially after yesterday. So far, Pascal isn't too bad but if he starts sending Peacekeepers after me I'm fairly certain it wouldn't take me long to change that opinion.

"I know," he says. "So come on, move it."

I stand and follow him out the door, fully counting on him to lead me around the bleak tunnels that look a lot like longer versions of the room I stayed the night in. I make mental notes that some of the doors are marked with a number and either an 'f' or and 'm'. Pascal explained last night that a male and a female have been taken from each of the districts, so I assume that those labels mark where each of them is being kept. I find myself wondering if I'll ever have to meet any of them and shudder at the thought. I'm not very good at meeting people, especially those that are supposed to be trying to kill me in a few days.

That thought still seems insane to me, but I brush it off as best I can. I've spent too much time already dwelling on it. If I'm going to get anywhere in this place I know I'll have to play by their rules, and that first means being present of mind enough to learn them.

Pascal opens a door and I am unsurprised to see the white walls and small dimensions as I enter in behind him. The only pieces of furniture in the room are a couple of comfy-looking white chairs and a large table. Pascal takes one of the chairs and I don't bother to ask before taking the seat across from him. He showed me last night that he isn't much one for formalities and neither am I.

"Alright," he says after as I am taking a seat. "Pretty much we're going to have two hours with a camera and a stylist to film a commercial-type promotion video that will be shown across Panem for the next few days. It's supposed to tell us some stuff about you, your past, and what people can expect from you in the arena."

"That seems a bit stupid," I say bluntly. Not only that, but it's also rather invasive. Who says I want a bunch of random people to know the details of my life?

Pascal sighs. "Just work with me, Santana. It's not optional. Also I think it'll be good for you to make an impression, I already explained how important that is last night so I won't repeat myself."

"Fine," I say simply if for no other reason than to avoid an extended argument with him. I've already seen how little respect myself and the others have been shown since even before we arrived here. I don't expect it would be a good outcome if I were to fight with him.

"I already have a few ideas based on the character I've moulded for you, but I need some finer details too," he continues. "Tell me something about yourself that people would remember."

I almost laugh out loud at the request. How he said it so simply as if I were just as eager to tell him about my life as the Peacekeepers were to handcuff me yesterday. I am not and never have been an open book, and I'm sure he's been able to tell as much just from meeting me. The idea that he thinks I will just open up for him at a second's notice is ridiculous.

I said I wasn't going to fight this, but maybe a little resistance won't hurt me too much.

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><p><strong>Sampson Ellios, 15, District Eight<strong>

* * *

><p>I see Aubin shaking his head from behind the camera before half the sentence is even out of my mouth. I stop and sigh, waiting for him to tell me what I'm doing wrong this time.<p>

"I don't believe a word of it, Sampson," he says. "Not a single word."

"I don't know what else to do," I insist. We have to have been going at this for at least a good half an hour, and according to him we don't have even one good line to put in the commercial. I don't think it was possible to miss that little room, but I do. At least I was being hidden away in there instead of paraded on camera as if I am supposed to be happy about being taken away from my life.

He motions me over to the table behind the camera and takes a seat across from me. "These lines are terrible, you're not feeling them. We need something that you mean."

I shrug. I don't think it really matters what they make me say. Aubin says the point of this is to convince people to like me and vote on me in the polls that will be happening the night before the Hunger Games really begin. I don't see how telling them about me is going to make them like me. "Does it really matter if this turns out well?"

"More than you could imagine," he sighs. "This is a television show, and I imagine they'll be making a point to keep around the favourite characters. We just need an angle for you, Sampson. Something that will make you stick in their minds as they watch your progress this week."

"I'm sorry I'm not more interesting then," I say quietly.

"Stop," he tells me, putting the notes he took earlier on the table. "These statements we came up with this morning are good. You just have to think they're good too, or no one will even think twice about you."

"I know they're good," I lie.

"Okay, trying something new. Think about your family, the people back home for you. Pretend you're talking to them, it'll help you feel more natural about it than just knowing you're talking to the camera."

"If I was talking to my family they wouldn't even be listening," I say quietly. "It wouldn't feel natural to even try to talk to them like this."

He sits back in his chair and looks at me for a second. I recognize the look on his face, and it only makes me wish for that little room even more. I don't want his pity. I don't need him to feel bad for me or tell me that he's sorry I feel that way. I've heard it before when I tried talking to Tater a long while ago. Pity isn't anything I desire or need. I should have just gone along with what he said and not said anything about it.

"Then here's what we do," he says finally. "You're going to do exactly what I said and talk to your family with these statements. And you're going to pretend that, for maybe the first time, they have no choice but to listen to every single word you're about to say."

I think about that for a moment then nod. The idea sounds almost crazy enough that it would work. I stand back up and go towards the panel with the District Eight seal hanging down behind me. He starts up the camera and I take a few seconds to picture Tyson standing in place of Aubin. His eyes locked on me just like Aubin's.

"My name is Sampson, and I am the male tribute from District Eight for the 1st Annual Hunger Games."

I am surprised at how steady my voice feels, and in front of me Tyson smiles. For the first time since we started filming, no one calls out to tell me to stop and start again. The next line comes out just as easily, as if it was something I would say naturally. Then the next, and the next. Still Aubin doesn't stop me. Every new line makes me feel even better about it, and before long I am saying the final line and the one Aubin was most proud of.

"Nothing has stopped me so far, and I honestly don't see that changing anytime soon."

The body high after I have finished talking is like nothing I have ever experienced before. I thought the lines were pretentious to say the least when Aubin showed me what he came up with, but I can almost start to believe I'm as unstoppable as I just finished saying I am.

I hear a slow clapping and I look over to see that Tyson has vanished and instead it is Aubin that smiles back at me, his hands coming together in slow rhythm. I can't help but smile when I see the look of surprised satisfaction on his face. I hope that means I've done well enough. It felt better than any of the other times, I was kind of even enjoying myself a little.

"That's what I mean," Aubin grins. "I couldn't have done it better unless I said the lines for you."

"Thanks," I beam.

"It's a good thing, too," he goes on. "Our time is up in two minutes, they're bringing in the girl from Four next and I'd hate to make Fanchon wait. She wouldn't be too happy with me if I did."

He motions for me to follow him and I sigh and step towards him. Just before I close the door to the studio behind me I take one more look at the camera. I'll miss the thing. It was nice to feel like someone was really listening to me.

* * *

><p><strong>Danican Tobin, 16, District Three<strong>

* * *

><p>"I should bring an Avox in here to massage his shoulders," I hear Alaire saying to the stylist that's been helping her work on me all day. "Maybe then he would relax."<p>

The stylist says nothing and shrugs. I have hardly heard the old woman say a word all day. I would think she was mute except for when I asked her the time and she replied. She seems to be a lot kinder than Alaire, at least from what I can tell. Maybe that's just because all my mentor has been doing since she came and got me this morning is yell at me.

I sigh and try to make my shoulders relax but it seems impossible. I can't help that I'm on edge. So much has happened since yesterday morning. Before then I had never even been in half of District Three, and now I've traveled by train across the country and have ended up in the Capitol. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be feeling about all the sudden changes, but I don't think calm is supposed to be it.

"Honey," Alaire says and when I look up I realize that she is speaking to me again. I am still standing in front of the District Three seal with a few scrap pieces of paper in my hands. I tried for a little bit to memorize them like she asked me to, but I had to give up after a few tries. Her writing is so much different than anything I've seen before, all frilly and connected. I can't read it very well.

"Yes?" I say quietly.

"Do you think we can try that first line again?" She asks sweetly and then turns back to the stylist. "Maybe the twelfth time is the charm?"

I shrink back at the comment. I want to do what she asks and just get out of here, but it's impossible to even pretend to be comfortable here. "I can try."

"Perfect," she says. "Try to relax this time, it'll make you seem more natural on film."

"I'll try," I whisper.

She walks in front of the camera and stops strangely close to me, making me take a subconscious step backwards and nearly knocking into the screen. She looks me up and down as if she were seeing me for the very first time. "Why so nervous?"

I shrug, not exactly sure how I am supposed to answer the question. I personally feel like I have sufficient reason to be nervous. After what Alaire told me about the Hunger Games last night, I think it's fair of me to feel scared. I've been trying to get a hold on my emotions, especially after spending much of yesterday in a blank, shut down state.

I jump when she snaps her fingers in front of my face. I stare at her with wide eyes. "Did you hear my question?"

I blush, realizing that I forgot what she had even asked. Something about nerves? "I don't know."

She brings her hand up to rub at her temples as she stares back at me, saying nothing for a few seconds. "I don't know what to tell you."

"I'm sorry," I reply, though I'm not exactly sure what I am apologizing for.

"This is new, I know this. But you have to get comfortable, at least somewhat. The people we are going to show this commercial to don't care that you're nervous or scared or whatever you are. This is television, we have to make you a character that they are going to root for. Do you understand?"

I consider what she's saying and nod. She went over this last night. I remember her telling me that she and the other mentors are likely going to be the only ones to try and know us as people. The rest of the nation, especially the Capitolites, is going to be made to see us as characters. She told me some of what she plans to do to create my character sketch, but if I'm already failing at my first task do I really stand a chance at earning any favour?

I sigh as she returns to stand behind the camera and I take one more look at the script she had written up before I was even awake this morning. The line is simple enough, just basically saying my name and district. Why is it so difficult for me to talk about myself?

Maybe it's because I don't want them to know about me. I've already been taken away from my home and my family, told that there is a very good chance that I am never going to see a familiar face again in my lifetime. They're not allowed to have any more than that. It just isn't fair of them to try and take myself away when they have already, maybe unknowingly even, taken so much.

"Okay, whenever you're ready," Alaire says again, but even the look on her face tells me that she doesn't expect this performance to be any different from the last dozen. I consider telling her exactly what I'm thinking, with the cameras going and everything. I don't want her to take this moment and display it across the nation like she plans to. I don't want people that I don't know or people that took me away from everything I've ever known to pretend that they have a reason to hope that I live. They don't even know me. Most of them likely don't care to either.

I consider saying all of this, but I know I wouldn't be able to. As cowardly as it may seem, I know that I have to get serious about doing what I'm told. My life has allowed me to only be present in the worlds I want to be present in, but this is different. If I disappear from this world it isn't like one of my dreams. If I let myself leave the present... well, I might not ever come back.

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><p><strong>Song: Cannons by Kaiser Chiefs.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: I'm expecting a bit of mixed feelings about this chapter, so I'll explain a bit about how I came up with this. I wanted something different that would more closely match the theme I am going for with this story. The Capitol people, for the most part, do not want to have anything to do with the district people so I don't think many would be eager to go see them in a parade. **

**Basically, people are still getting used to the idea of the Hunger Games and the commercials are a way of the government sort of shoving it down their throats. They'll be played all over Panem all during the week, along with other related broadcasts. It's meant to get people used to seeing and recognizing the tributes before the Games actually begin.**

**So yeah, that's my basic thought process. If y'all have any other questions about it I'd be happy to discuss it with you. I just figured the above was enough to put in an author's note. **

**Anyways, I'd be super happy if you would consider leaving a review (unfortunately they seem to be going down in numbers every chapter which is sort of disappointing). Just something short to answer the below questions and maybe just give a general review about how you think the writing was this chapter. **

_**Have your opinions changed about Santana, Sampson, or Danican since their Pre-Reapings?**_

_**What do you think of the commercials setup (please be honest)?**_

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><p><strong>That is all for this chapter, see you all in a few days with the next one. Bye. <strong>


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